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http://www.archive.org/details/brigadierfred00erckiala 























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Translated from the French of 
Gat : _ * ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN 


With a Critical Introduction by 
PROFESSOR RICHARD BURTON 
: of the University of Minnesota 













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FasHions change in literature, but certain 
things abide. There may be disputes from gener- 
ation to generation, even from decade to decade, 
as to what is esthetic, or what is beautiful; there 
is less as to what is human. The work of the 
French writers, whose duality is quite lost in the 
long-time association of their names for the pur- 
poses of story making, seems at the least to make 
this claim to outlast its authors: it is delightfully 
saturated with humanity. 

And this humanity is of the sort that, since it 
can be understood of all men, is therefore very 
widely acceptable. It is well to emphasize the 
point in an attempt to explain the popularity of 
Erckmann-Chatrian, immediate or remote. There 
are other reasons, to be sure: but this one is at 
the door, knocking to be heard. But to speak of 
the essential humanity of these books is not to. 
deny or ignore their art ; that they have in abun- 
dance—quite as truly indeed as the work of your 
Vol. 11—A Vv 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


most insistent advocate of ‘‘ art for art”; but it is 
art for life’s sake. In the best sense, the verisimil- 
itude of the Erckmann-Chatrian stories is admira- 
ble, impressive. They are, as a rule, exquisitely in 
key. They produce a cumulative effect by steadily, 
unobtrusively clinging to a single view-point, that 
of the speaker who is an eye-witness, and the re- 
sult is a double charm—that of reality and that of 
illusion. One sees life, not through the eyes of 
the authors, but through the eyes of the characters ; 
hence the frequent setting-forth of principles is re- 
lieved from didacticism by the careful way in which 
the writers refrain from expressing their own opin- 
ion. So artistic are they that they even indulge in 
the delicate ruse of opposing the views which are 
really their own, thereby producing a still stronger — 
effect of fair-mindedness and detachment. 

Yet, as the world knows, in the most justly 
famed of their books, the so-called National 
Novels, it is their purpose to preach against war ; 
they are early advocates of the principles of the 
Peace Congress at The Hague, forerunners, in 
their own fashion, of the ideas expressed in art 
and literature by later men like Tolstoy and 

. Verestchagin. 

The local colour—one still uses the phrase as 

convenient—is remarkable for its sympathetic 
vi 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


fidelity ; the style well-nigh a model of prose 
whose purpose it is to depict in homely yet pic- 
turesque terms the passage of great events, seen 
by humble, it may be Philistine, folk, and hence 
not seen couleur de rose. When a heartfelt sym- 
pathy for average human-kind rises to the surface 
of the author’s feeling, some candid, cordial phrase 
is ever found to express it. 

The work of Erckmann-Chatrian, voluminous 
as it is, can be easily classified: it mainly con- 
sists of the idyl and the picture of war; L’///ustre 
Docteur Mathéus, their first success, happily illus- 
trates the former gezre ; any one of the half dozen 
tales making up the National Novel series may be 
taken to represent the latter. Both veins turned 
out to be gold mines, so rich were they in the free- 
milling ore of popular favour. Such stories as 
L Ami Fritz and The Brigadier Frederick are 
types of the two kinds of fiction which panned out 
most richly also for the world. In the idyl dealing 
with homely  rovincial life—the life of their home 
province—these authors are, of a truth, masters. 
The story is naught, the way of telling it, all that 
breeds atmosphere and innuendo, is everything. In 
L’ Ami Fritz the plot may be told in a sentence: 
‘tis the wooing and winning of a country lass, 
daughter of a farmer, by a well-to-do jovial bache- 

yu 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


lor of middle age in a small town; vocla tout; 
yet the tale makes not only delicious reading, it 
leaves a permanent impression of pleasure—one is 
fain to re-read it. It is rich in human nature, in a 
comfortable sense of the good things of the earth ; 
food and drink, soft beds, one’s seat at the tavern, 
spring sunlight, and the sound of a fiddle playing 
dance tunes at the fair: and, on a higher plane, of 
the genial joys of comradeship and the stanch be- 
lief in one’s native land. When the subtler pas- 
sion of love comes in upon this simple pastoral 
scene, the gradual discovery of Friend Fritz that 
the sentiment he has always ridiculed has him at 
last in its clutch, is portrayed with a sly unction, a 
kindly humour overlying an unmistakable tender- 
ness of heart, which give the tale great charm. 
Sweetness and soundness are fundamentals of such 
literature. 

This tale is a type of them all, though de- 
servedly the best liked. Love of nature and of 
human nature, a knowledge of the little, signifi- 
cant things that make up life, an exquisite realism 
along with a sort of temperamental optimism 
which assumes good of men and women—these 
blend in the provincial stories in such a way that 
one’s sense of art is charmed while in no less de- 
gree one’s sense of life is quickened and com- 

vill 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


forted. Erckmann-Chatrian introduced to French 
readers the genuine Alsatian, not the puppet of 
the vaudeville stage. Their books are, among 
other things, historical documents. From their 
sketches and tales better than in any other way 
one can gain an understanding of the present Ger- 
man provinces of Alsace and Lorraine during a 
period stretching from the Revolution to and after 
the Franco-Prussian war. The Alsatian in their 
hands is seen distinctly as one of the most inter- 
esting of Gallic provincial types. 

The attitude of Dr. Mathéus, that charming 
physician savant, who is in love with science, with 
the great world of scholarship and literary fame, 
and so is fain to leave his simple countryside in 
quest of renown—in his final return to his home as, 
after all, the best spot on earth, typifies the teach- 
ing of these authors in all their works. The tale is 
a sort of allegory, veiling a sermon on the value of 
the “fireside clime” of home hearths and hearts. 
Nor must it be forgotten that these writers culti- 
vated the short story or tale with vigour and suc- 
cess; The Dean's Watch, printed in the present 
volume, is an excellent example of the genre. 
Erckmann-Chatrian, especially in the earlier years 
of their conjoined labour, wrote numerous pieces 
of short fiction which abounded in gruesome ad- 

ix 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


venture and situations more or less startling— 
witness the Heidelberg murder story. They pos- 
sessed a considerable talent for the detective fic- 
tion brought to a fine art by Poe and worthily 
carried on in our day by Conan Doyle. Yet 
even here the work has a higher value—perhaps 
the highest—for the thoughful reader in that it 
affords a faithful transcript of German life in 
time gone by; the authors, although so circum- 
scribed in space, are in some sort. historians of 
piquant social conditions. It is commonly said 
that your true short-story writer is not a novel- 
ist, nor the other way about. But Zhe Dean's 
Watch, and a dozen other tales that could be 
named, are little master-pieces not to be omitted 
in any just, comprehensive survey of these fecund 
authors. 

The National Novels differ from these simpler 
tales in more than theme and the fuller body and 
greater variety they possess; the authors’ aim in 
the series sets the books apart from the other 
stories. This group is made up of tales that fairly 
may be called ‘purpose fiction,” in the present 
cant. Erckmann-Chatrian agree to hate war and 
to justify their hate by writing a succession of 
books portraying its horrors, always from the dis- 
advantage-point of actual humble participants and 

x 


Erck mann—Chatrian 


onlookers, so that the plea shall appear to be at 
once fairly made and yet be overwhelming in 
effect. Of the result, surely it may be said of the 
National Novels that if they are not magnificent, 
they are war—war stript of its glory, reduced to 
the one grim denominator of human misery. 

The successive national struggles of France 
towards that peaceful Republicanism which has 
now endured long enough to induce the outside 
world into a belief that this volatile, fiery people 
will never revert to any form of monarchy, are 
sketched so graphically as to give a clear compre- 
hension of their history. Nowhere is the artistry 
of the authors better exhibited than in the skill 
with which, by placing their own position in the 
mouths of others and by means of their remark- 
able power in characterization, they rob special 
pleading of that didacticism which is so deadly 
an enemy of good fiction. To secure an effect 
of verisimilitude no method of story-telling is 
perhaps so useful as that in which one of the 
characters speaks in proper person. What the 
author loses in omniscience, he more than gains 
in the impression of reality. This method is 
admirable in the hands of Erckmann-Chatrian, 
who consistently use it in their fiction. Do the 
writers of any other nation, one is tempted to 

x1 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


query, offer such frequent examples of good taste 
in this avoidance of the too didactic as do the 
French? In some English hands so strenuous an 
attempt would have seemed heavily intolerable. 
Here one forgets all but the naturalness of word 
and action in the characters; and the lesson sinks 
the deeper into the mind. 

In justice both to our authors and the present- 
day temper, it may be declared that the Twentieth 
Century is likely to be more sympathetic to their 
particular thesis than was their own time. There 
is a popular treatment of war which bedecks it in 
a sort of stage tinsel, to the hiding of its gaunt 
figure and cadaverous face. Some of Scott’s ro- 
mances are of this order. Zola, with his epic 
sweep in Le Débdcle, does not disguise the horrors 
of the Franco-Prussian struggle. Yet epic it is, 
and in a sense, romantic; handled by a poet 
whose imagination is aroused by the magnitude 
and movement of his theme. Erckmann-Chatrian 
set themselves squarely against this conception ; 
they reduce the splendid trappings and e/a of bat- 
tle to its true hideousness. 

In order to depict the inevitable, wretched 
results of the killing of men for purposes. of 
political ambition, or national aggrandizement, 


Erckmann-Chatrian, as in their provincial idyls, 
xii 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


cling steadily to the position of the average man, 
who cannot for the life of him see the use of leav- 
ing all that is pleasant and dear, of fighting, march- 
ing, sickening, and dying for the sake of a cause 
he does not understand or believe in, as the slave 
of men whom he perhaps despises. Joseph Berta, 
the lame conscript, the shrewd, kindly Jew Ma- 
thieu, the common-sense miller Christian Weber, 
protagonists in three well-known stories, each dis- 
tinct from the other, are all alike in their prefer- 
ence for peace over war, for the joy of home and 
the quiet prosecution of their respective affairs, 
instead of the dubious pleasures of siege and cam- 
paign. 

There is a superbly dourgeozs flavour to it all. 
Yet one feels its force, its sound humanity. The 
republicanism of these writers is of the broadest 
kind. They hate Bonaparte or Bourbon, because 
in their belief either house stands for tyranny and 
corruption ; while Napoleon is their special detes- 
tation, the later Empire ‘is vigorously assailed be- 
cause it, too, is opposed to the interests of the 
people. Napoleon III., whom in high satiric 
scorn they pillory as ‘““The Honest Man,” comes 
in for savage condemnation, since he again brings 
woe upon the working folk, in pursuit of his own 
selfish ends. And underneath all, like a ground- 

Xxiil 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


swell can be felt a deep and genuine, if homely, 
patriotism. 

Human nature, as it is witnessed in the pages 
of Erckmann-Chatrian, is not hard to decipher. 
It lacks the subtlety of the modern psychologue, 
miscalled a novelist. Humanity for them is made 
up of two great contrasted elements—the people 
and the enemies of the people; the latter made 
up of kings, politicians, government leaders, and 
the general world of bureaucracy, who fleece the 
former, ‘‘that vast flock which they were always 
accustomed to shear, and which they call the 
people.” But the people themselves, how veri- 
table and charming they are! Not a whit are 
they idealized ; the fictional folk of these writers 
are always recognisable ; they give us that pleasure 
of recognition which Mr. James points out as one 
of the principal virtues of modern novel-making. 
The title of one of the well-known books, 7he 
History of a Man of the People, might almost 
stand as a description of their complete works. 
There is no sentimentalizing of average humanity ; 
none of the Auerbach or George Sand prettifica- 
tion of country life. Erckmann-Chatrian are as 
truthful as a later realist like Thomas Hardy. The 
family life in Zhe Brigadier Frederick is almost 
lyrically set forth, until it seems, mayhap, too 

X1V 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


good for human nature’s daily food; but similar 
scenes in other stories have a Dutch-like fidelity 
in their transcripts of the coarser, less lovely 
human traits; recall the wife and daughter of 
Weber, for example, or the well-nigh craven fear 
of Joseph Berta in 7he Plebzsczte, who seems half 
a poltroon until he is seasoned in a Napoleonic 
campaign ; the psychologic treatment here sug- 
gesting Stephen Crane’s 7he Red Badge of Cour- 
age. The blend of grim realism and _ heroic 
patriotism in the figure of the old sergeant in 
The Plebcscete is a fine illustration of that truth 
to both the shell and kernel of life which Erck- 
mann-Chatrian maintain throughout their work. 
On the whole, then, it is a comfortable, en- 
heartening conception of Man they present. Poor 
theologians they would make; men are by nature 
good and kind; only warped by cruel misuse and 
bad masters, as in war. ‘Ah, it is a great joy to 
love and to be loved, the only one joy of life,” 
exclaims the Jew Mathieu in 7he Blockade. This 
simple yet sufficient creed pervades their thought. 
Again and again is it declared that whatever the 
parent evil, so that the faithful-hearted and de- 
oot of the world, like Father Frederick, lose 
courage for the moment, the fault is with men 
upon earth, not in heaven. High over all, God 
XV 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


reigns. A spirit of kindliness, quiet, unheroic, 
but deep and tender, cnswathes the more serious 
part of these novels like an atmosphere ; and if the 
mood shifts to indignation, it is the righteous in- 
dignation of the good in the face of that which is 
wrong and evil. And these better human attri- 
butes are most commonly found in the provinces ; 
the city, as a rule, spells sin. The touch of mother 
earth brings purity and strength. ‘‘ La mauvaise 
race qui trompe,” declares the Brigadier Frederick, 
“n’existe pas au pays; elle est toujours venue 
d’ailleurs.” One smiles at this, but it offends not 
nor seems absurd. Its very prejudice is lovable. 
Perhaps none of the stories make so moving 
an appeal against war as Zhe Brigadier Frederick. 
Its sadness is the most heartfelt, its realism the 
most truthful, and hence effective. Nor in any 
other book of the War Series does the French 
character shine more clearly in its typical virtues. 
Family love and faith, camaraderze, humble de- 
voutness in religion, and earnest patrivtism are 
constantly made manifest in this fine tale. In- 
stead of conducting their hero through the spec- 
tacular scenes of military campaigns, the authors 
depict only the stay-at-home aspects of war, which 
because of their lack of strut and epic colour are, 


as a rule, overlooked, and which yet illustrate far 
xvi 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


better than the most Zolaesque details the wretched 
milieu and after effects of a great national strug- 
gle. Frederick, the old guard of the Alsatian 
forest domains, loses in turn his post, his son-in- 
law, wife, and daughter, and at last his native 
land ; and through all his misery remains proudly a 
Frenchman, who refuses to declare allegiance to 
the German invaders; and, in being true to his 
convictions, furnishes a noble example of a man 
who, by the moral test, rises superior to any 
fate, his head being 
“bloody but unbowed.” 

Again, sad as the story is, it differs from too 
much of the tragedy of current literature ; it is sad 
for the sake of a purpose, not for sadness’ sake. 
Alleviation is offered the reader from the begin- 
ning, in that he knows that Frederick himself has 
survived all his woes, since he is telling his tale to 
a friend in after years. These qualities make the 
work wholesome and beautiful, sound both for art 
and life. . 

Erckmann-Chatrian draw strength from moth- 
er-soil. Their stories are laid in Alsace-Lorraine, 
or at least it is that debatable land whence the 
characters go only to return for the peaceful de- 
nouement, which these authors, in the good old- 
fashioned style, like to offer their readers. The 

XV11 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


popularity of such writers brings us back, happily, 
to that untechnical valuation of literature which 
insists, first of all, in regarding it as an exposition 
of human experience. Their books bear transla- 
tion especially well because there is something 
in them besides incommunicable flavours of style, 
though style is not wanting; namely, vital folk, 
vivid scenes, significant happenings. Theirs is 
the misleading simplicity of method and manner 
which hides technique of a rare and admirable 
kind. Allowing for all exaggeration for altered 
ideals in fiction, and for the waning of interest in 
the historical circumstances which they portray, 
there remain such elements of permanent appeal 
as to give their books far more than a transient 
worth. ; 

For more than forty years, Erckmann-Chat- 
rian wrote as one man; their collaboration was, 
in effect, a chemical union. No example in liter- 
ature better illustrates the possibility of the mer- 
ging of individualities for the purposes of artistic 
unity. The double work of the English Besant 
and Rice is by no means so important nor do they 
stand and fall together in the same sense; much 
of Besant’s typical fiction being produced after 
his partner’s death. Inthe case of the most famed 
collaboration of older days, that of the dramatists 


XVili 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


Beaumont and Fletcher, the union was more inti- 
mate. But the early death of Beaumont, the con- 
sideration that he wrote less than half the plays 
conventionally attributed to their joint authorship, 
and the additional consideration that some of the 
best and most enjoyable dramas associated with 
these great names—TZhe Loyal Subject, to mention 
but one—are unquestionably of Fletcher's sole 
? composition, make the Beaumont-Fletcher lli- 
ance not so perfect an example of literary collabo- 
ration as is offered by Erckmann-Chatrian. When 
Chatrian died in 1890, it was as if, for literary 
purposes, both died. Their work had a unity tes- 
tifying to a remarkable if not unique congeniality 
in temperament, view and aim, as well as to a 
fraternal unity which—alas ! the irony of all human 
friendships—was dispelled when their quarrel, just 
before the death of Chatrian, put an end to an 
association so fruitful and famous. 

From the very nature of fiction in contrast 
with drama, it would seem as if collaboration in 
stage literature were more likely to yield happy 
results than in the case of the novel. Here, how- 
ever, is an example setting aside a przorz reason- 
ing ; seemingly “helpless each without the other,” 
the final breach in their personal relations would 
seem to have written Finis to their literary en- 

X1xX 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


deavour. Yet Erckmann survived for nearly a dec- 
ade and wrote military stories, which in tone and 
temper carried on the traditions of the two men. 
But we may easily detect in this last effort the 
penalty of their literary severance : the loss of the 
craftsmanship of Chatrian was a loss indeed. Nor 
is this subjective guess-work of the critic; Erck- 
mann himself described nearly twenty years ago 
the respective parts played by the two in their 
literary work. He declared that after a story had 
been blocked out and thoroughly talked over be- 
tween them, he did all the actual composition. 
Then was it Chatrian’s business to point out faults, 
to suggest, here a change in perspective, there 
less emphasis upon a subsidiary character, or here 
again, a better handling of proportion—in short, 
to do all the retouching that looks to artistry. 
And Erckmann goes on to testify in good set 
terms how necessary his collaborator was to the 
final perfected form of the story ; how much it 
must have suffered without his sense of technique. 
It would appear from this that the senior member 
of the firm did what is commonly called the cre- 
ative work of composition, the junior filling the 
role of critic. From France one hears that Erck- 
mann was very German in taste and sympathy 


(mirabzle dictu / in view of so much of what he 
xx 


Erckmann—Chatrian 


wrote); Chatrian, French to the core, a man who in- 
sisted on residing on the French side of the national 
line, who reared his sons to be French soldiers; 
whereas Erckmann in later years hobnobbed with 
‘the Germans, members of his family, in fact, inter- 
marrying with his ancient enemies. 

Indeed, this last act of their personal history 
has its disillusionment. But after all, men shall 
be judged in their works. Whatever their private 
quarrellings, their respective parts in literary la- 
bour, their attributes or national leanings, the world, 
justly caring most in the long run for the fiction 
they wrote, will continue to think of them as 
provincial patriots, lovers of their country, and 
Frenchmen of the French, not only in the tongue 
they used, but in those deep-lying characteristics 
and qualities which make their production wor- 
thily Gallic in the nobler implication of the word. 


RIcHARD BuRTON. 


Vol. 11—B xxi 





BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 





The celebrated friends who collaborated for fifty 
years under the title of ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN 
were natives of the department of the Meurthe, in 
Alsace-Lorraine. YE-MILE ERcKMANN was born at 
Phalsbourg (now Pfalzburg), on the 20th of May, 
1822. Hs father was a bookseller ; his mother 
he lost carly. He was educated at the grammar 
school of Phalsbourg, and was a boarder there, 
growing up an intractable and dle boy. At the 
age of twenty Erckmann went up to Paris to study 
law, but he was inattentive to his work, and posz- 
tively took fifteen years to pass the necessary exam- 
tnations ; having done so, he made no further use 
of his profession. When he was twenty-five he 
suffered from a sertous tllness, and during hts con- 
valescence, tn Alsace, he turned his attention to lit- 
erature. At this moment there had arrived in 
Phalshourg, as an usher in the grammar school, a 
young Alsatian, ALEXANDRE CHATRIAN, of Jtad- 
zan descent, who was born at Soldatenthal, near 

xxiii 


Biographical Note 


A breschwiller, on the 18th of December, 1826, and 
who was destined for the trade of glass-worker. 
fle had been sent in 1844, as an apprentice, to the 
glass-works tn Belgium, but had, tn opposition to 
the wish of his parents, determined to return and 
to be a schoolmaster tn France. 

Erckmann and Chatrian now met, and tin- 
stantly felt trresestebly drawn to one another. From 
this tome until near the end of their careers their 
names were melted indzssolubly into one. In 1848 
a local newspaper, ‘Le Démocrate du Rhin,” 
opened its columns to their contributions, and they 
began to publish novels. Their first great success 
was “ L’Illustre Docteur Mathéus,” in 1859, which 
appeared originally wn the “ Revue Nouvelle,” and 
which exactly gauged the taste of the general pub- 
lic. This was followed by “ Contes Fantastiques” 
and ‘‘Contes de la Montagne,” in 1860 ; by ‘Maitre 
Daniel Rock,” tn 1861, by “Contes des Bords du 
Rhin” and ‘Le Fou Yégof,” n 1862, “Le Joueur 
de Clarinette,” in 1863, and in 1864, which was per- 
haps the culminating year of the talent of Erck- 
mann-Chatrian, by “Madame Thérese,” “L’ Ami 
Fritz,’ and “ L’Histotre d'un Conscrit de 1813.” 
These, and innumerable stories whith followed 
them, dealt almost entirely with scenes of country 
life in Alsace and the neighbouring German Patat- 


XXiV 


Biographical Note 


tnate. The authors adopted a strong Chauvinist 
bias, and at the time of the Franco-German War 
their sympathics were violently enlisted on the side 
of France. 

In 1872 Erckmann-Chatrian published a po- 
litical novel which enjoyed an immense success, 
“ Histoire du Plébiscite”; tn 1873, “Les Deux 
Freres” ; and they concluded tn many volumes thetr 
long romance ‘‘f{istotre d'un Paysan.” Two of 
the latest of their really striking romances were 
“Tes Vieux de la Vielle,” 1882, and ‘Les Rant- 
zau, 1884. During this period, however, ther 
great vogue was the theatre, where tn 1869 they 
produced ‘Le Jutf Polonars,” and in 1877 “L' Amit 
fritz,” two of the most successful romantic plays 
of the nineteenth century, destined to be popular in 
all parts of the world. After the war of 1870-71 
Erckmann lived at Phalsbourg, which was pres- 
ently annexed to German Lothringen, and he be- 
came a German citizen; Chatrian contenued to 
reside in Paris, and remained a Frenchman. For 
a long time the friends continued to collaborate on 
the old terms of intimacy, though at a distance 
From one another, but a quarrel finally separated 
them, on a vulgar matter of interest. Erckmann 
claimed, and Chatrian refused, author's rights on 
those plays which bore the name of both writers, 

XXV 


Biographical Note 


although Chatrian had composed them unaided. 
The rupture became complete in 1889, when the old 
Sriends parted as bitter enemies. Chatrtan died a 
year later, on the gth of September, 1890, from a 
stroke of apoplexy, at Villemomble, near Parts. 
Erckmann left Phalsbourg, and settled at Luné- 
ville, where he died on the r4th of March, 1899. 
The temperament of Erckmann was phlegmatic 
and melancholy ; that of Chatrian impetuous and 
fiery. They were strongly opposed to the theo- 
ries of the realists, which assatled them in thewr 
advancing age, and they stated thetr own prin- 
ciples of literary composition in ‘‘ Quelgues mots 
sur Lesprit humazn,” 1880, and zts continuation 
“T’Art et les Grands Idéalistes,” 1885. For a 
long time ther popularity was unequalled by that 
of any other French noveltst, largely because their 
lively writings were pre-eminently surted to family 
reading. But they never achieved an equal prom- 
inence tn purely literary estimation. 


E. -G, 


xXXxvi 


CONTENTS 


meemmunn-C hatrian .°. 6 3 ew V-Xxi 
Richard Burton 


Lives of Erckmann and Chatrian . . . xxili—-xxvi 
Edmund Gosse 


mer Prederick ge a eye 1-228 
earean s Watch 2 ke es I-39 


The Portraits of Erckmann and Chatrian. 41-50 


Octave Uzanne 


XXxVll 


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Aa rosy 
Aone 





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cael gd a A 


“ate, Ae 





Sed 


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DIR FREDERICK 


> 








BRIGADIER FREDERICK 


I 


WueEn I was brigadier forester at Steinbach, 
said Father Frederick to me, and when I was the 
inspector of the most beautiful forest district in 
all the department of Saverne, I had a pretty cot- 
tage, shaded by trees, the garden and orchard 
behind filled with apple trees, plum trees, and 
pear trees, covered with fruit in the autumn ; with 
that four acres of meadow land along the bank of 
the river; when the grandmother, Anne, in spite 
of her eighty years, still spun behind the stove, 
and was able to help about the house; when my 
wife and daughter kept house and superintended 
the stables and the cultivation of our land, and 
when weeks, months, and years passed in their 
tranquility like a single day. If at that time any 
one had said to me, “See here, Brigadier Fred- 
erick, look at this great valley of Alsace, that 
extends to the banks of the Rhine; its hundreds 
of villages, surrounded by harvests of all kinds: 

3 


Brigadier Frederick 


tobacco, hops, madder, hemp, flax, wheat, barley 
and oats, over which rushes the wind as over the 
sea; those high factory chimneys, vomiting clouds 
of smoke into the air; those wind-mills and saw- 
mills ; those hills, covered with vines; those great 
forests of beech and fir trees, the best in France 
for ship-building ; those old castles, in ruins for 
centuries past, on the summits of the mountains; 
those fortresses of Neuf-Brisach, Schlestadt, Phals- 
bourg, Bitche, that defend the passes of the 
Vosges. Look, brigadier, as far as a man’s eye 
can reach from the line of Wissembourg to Bel- 
fort. Well, in a few years all that will belong to 
the Prussians; they will be the masters of all; 
they will have garrisons everywhere; they will 
levy taxes; they will send preceptors, censors, 
foresters, and schoolmasters into all the villages, 
and the inhabitants will bend their backs; they 
will go through the military drill in the German 
ranks, commanded by the /e/dwebel* of the Em- 
peror William.” If any one had told me that, I 
would have thought the man was mad, and, even 
in my indignation, I should have been very likely 
to have given him a backhander across the face. 
He would only have told the truth, however, 
and he would not even have said enough, for we 





* Sergeant. 


4 


Brigadier Frederick 


have seen many other things; and the most ter- 
rible thing of all for me, who had never quitted 
the mountain, is to see myself, at my old age, in 
this garret, from which I can see only the tiles 
and chimney-pots; alone, abandoned by Heaven 
and earth, and thinking day and night of that 
frightful story. 

Yes, George, the most terrible thing is to 
think! Foxes and wolves that are wounded lick 
themselves and get well. Kids and hares that are 
hurt either die at once, or else hide in a thicket 
-and end by recovering. When a dog’s puppies 
are taken away, the poor beast pines for a few 
days ; then she forgets, and all is forgotten. But 
we men cannot forget, and as time goes on we 
realize our misery more and more, and we see 
many sad things that we had not felt at first. In- 
justice, bad faith, selfishness, all grow up before 
our eyes like thorns and briers. 

However, since you desire to know how I hap- 
pened to get into this hovel in the heart of La 
Villette, and the way in which I have passed my 
life up to the present time, I will not refuse to 
answer you. You can question many other people 
beside myself; persons of different occupations— 
workmen, peasants emigrated from down yonder ; 
all the tumble-down houses of La Villette and La 

5 


Brigadier Frederick 


Chapelle are filled with them. I have heard that 
more than two hundred thousand hav left. It is 
possible. When I quitted the councry the roads 
were already overcrowded. 

But you know all about these things as well as 
I do; so I will tell about what concerns me alone, 
beginning at the beginning. That will be the 
simplest way. 

When your grandfather, M. Miinsch, the Presi- 
dent of the Tribunal, obtained promotion, in 1865; 
and left for Brittany, I was very glad of it, in one 
way, for he deserved to be promoted; I have 
never seen a better or more learned man. Saverne 
was not the place for him. But, on the other 
hand, I was very sorry for it. My father, the 
former forester of Désenheim, had never spoken 
to me of President Miinsch but with the greatest 
respect, repeating to me, over and over again, that 
he was our benefactor, that he had always liked 
our family. I myself owed to him my good post 
at Steinbach, and it was also on his recommenda- 
tion that I got my wife, Catherine Burat, the only 
daughter of the former brigadier, Martin Burat. 

After that, you can readily believe that, in 
going to make my report at Saverne, it was always 
with emotion that I gazed upon that good house, 


where, for twenty years, I had been so kindly re- 
6 


Brigadier Frederick 


ceived, and I regretted that noble man; it made 
my heart very sad. And, naturally, we missed 
very much, no longer having you to spend the 
vacations with us. We were so used to having 
you, that, long in advance, we would say: “The 
month of September is coming round; little 
George will soon be here.” 

My wife arranged the bed upstairs; she put 
lavender in the well-bleached sheets, and she 
washed the floor and window-panes. I prepared 
snares for the thrushes and bait of all kinds for the 
trout; I repaired the tomtits’ hut under the rocks; 
I tried the whistles for the bird-calls, and made 
new ones with lead and geese bones; I arranged 
everything in order in our boxes—the hooks, the 
lines, the flies, made of cock feathers; laughing 
beforehand at the pleasure of seeing you rummage 
among them, and of hearing you say: “ See here, 
Father Frederick, you must wake me up to-mor- 
row morning at two o'clock, without fail; we will 
start long before day !” 

I knew very well that you would sleep like a 
top till I should come to shake you and to scold 
you for your laziness; but at night, before going 
to bed, you always wanted to be up at two o'clock, 
or even at midnight ; that amused me greatly. 

And then I saw you in the hut, keeping so 


7 


Brigadier Frederick 


still while I whistled on the bird-call that you 
scarcely dared to breathe; I heard you trembling 
on the moss when the jackdaws and thrushes ar- 
rived, wheeling under the trees to see; I heard 
you whisper, softly : ‘‘There they are, there they 
are!” 

You were almost beside yourself when there 
came a great cloud of tomtits, which usually hap- 
pened just at daybreak. 

Yes, George, all these things rejoiced my 
heart, and I looked forward to the vacations with 
as much impatience perhaps as you did. Our little 
Marie-Rose also rejoiced in the thought of soon 
seeing you again ; she hastened to plait new snares 
and to repair the meshes of the nets which had got 
broken the year before. But then all was over; 
you were never to return, and we knew it well. 

Two or three times that poor idiot Calas, who 
looked after our cows in the field, seeing afar off 
on the other slope of the valley some persons who 
were on their way to Désenheim, came running in, 
crying, with his mouth open as far as his ears, 
“Here he is, here he is! It is he; I recognise 
him ; he has his bundle under his arm !” 

And Ragot barked at the heels of that idiot. 
I should have liked to have knocked them both 
over, for we had learned of your arrival at Rennes, 

8 


Brigadier Frederick 


and the President himself had written that you re- 
gretted Steinbach every day. I was in a bad 
enough humour, without listening to such cries. 

Often, too, my wife and Marie-Rose, while ar- 
canging the fruit on the garret floor, would say : 
‘What fine melting pears, what good gray rennets! 
Ah! if George returned, he would roll them round 
from morning till night. He would do nothing 
but run up and down stairs.” And then they 
would smile, with tears in their eyes. 

And how often I myself, returning from the 
bird-catching, and throwing on the table my 
bunches of tomtits, have I not cried: ‘ Look! 
there are ten or twelve dozen of them. What is 
the good of them now the boy is no longer here? 
Might as well give them to the cat ; for my part, 
I despise them.” 

That was true, George ; I never had a taste for 
tomtits, or even for thrushes. I always liked bet- 
ter a good quarter of beef, with now and then only 
a little bit of game, by way of change. 

Well, it is thus that the time passed just after 
your departure. That lasted for some months, and 
finally our ideas took another course, and that the 
more because, in the month of January, 1867, a 
great misfortune happened to us. 


Vol. 11—C 9 


Brigadier Frederick 


II 


In the depth of the winter, while all the roads 
and the mountain paths were covered with snow, 
and we heard every night the branches of the 
beech trees breaking like glass under their load of 
ice, to the right and left of the house, one evening 
my wife, who, since the commencement of the 
season, had gone to and fro looking very pale and 
without speaking, said to me, towards six o'clock, 
after having lighted the fire in the fireplace, ‘“‘ Fred- 
erick, I am going to bed. I do not feel well. I 
am cold.” 

She had never said anything like that before. 
She was a woman who never complained and who, 
during her youth, had looked after her house up 
to the very day before her confinements. I sus- 
pected nothing, and I replied to her: 

‘Catherine, do not put yourself out. You 
work too hard. Go and rest. Marie Rose will do 
the cooking.” 

I thought “once in twenty years is not too 
much ; she may well rest herself a little.” 

Marie-Rose heated a jug of water to put under 
her feet, and we took our supper of potatoes and 
clotted milk as tranquilly as usual. We were not 
at all uneasy, and about nine o'clock, having 

10 


Brigadier Frederick 


smoked my pipe near the stove, I was about to go 
to bed, when, on coming near the bed, I saw my 
wife, white as a sheet, and with hey eyes wide 
open. I said to her, 

“ Helloa, Catherine !” 

But she did not stir. I repeated ‘‘ Catherine,” 
and shook her by the arm. She was already cold. 

The courageous woman had not lain down till 
the last moment, so to speak ; she had lost much 
blood without complaining. I was a widower. 
My poor Marie-Rose no longer had a mother. 

That crushed me terribly. I thought I should 
never recover from the blow. 

The old grandmother, who for some time had 
scarcely ever stirred from her arm-chair, and who 
seemed always in a dream, awoke. Marie-Rose 
uttered cries and sobs which could be heard out of 
doors, and even Calas, the poor idiot, stammered : 

“Oh, if I had only died instead of her!” 

And as we were far away in the woods, I was 
forced to transport my poor wife to bury her, to 
the church at Désenheim, through the great snows. 
We went in a line, with the coffin before us in the 
cart. Marie-Rose wept so much that I was forced 
to support her at every step. Fortunately the 
grandmother did not come; she sat at home in 
her arm-chair, reciting the prayers for the dead. 

II 


Brigadier Frederick 


We did not return that evening till it was dark 
night. And now the mother was yonder under 
the snow, with the old Burat family, who are all in 
the cemetery of Ddsenheim behind the church; 
she was there, and I thought : 

‘‘What will become of the house? Frederick, 
you will never marry again ; you have had a good 
wife and who knows if the second would not be 
the worst and the most extravagant in the country. 
You will never take another. You will live like 
that, all alone. But what will you do? Who will 
take care of everything ? Who will look after your 
interest day and night? The grandmother is too 
old and the girl is still a mere child.” 

I was miserable, thinking that everything would 
go to ruin and that my savings of so many years 
would be wasted from day to day. 

But my little Marie-Rose was a real treasure, a 
girl full of courage and good sense, and no sooner 
was my wife dead than she put herself at the head 
of our affairs, looking after the fields, the cattle, 
and the household, and ruling Calas like her 
mother. The poor fellow obeyed her; he under- 
stood in his simplicity that she was now the mis- 
tress and that she had the right to speak for every- 
body. 

And so things go on earth. When we have 

12 


Brigadier Frederick 


had such trials we think that nothing worse can 
happen to us, but all that was merely the begin- 
ning, and when I think of it, it seems to me that 
our greatest happiness would have been, all to 
have died together upon the same day. 


II] 


Tuus all our joys, all our satisfactions passed 
away, one after the other. The old house to which 
I formerly returned, laughing from afar, only to 
see its little windows glittering in the sun and its 
little chimney smoking between the tops of the 
fir trees, was then sad and desolate. The winter 
appeared very long to us. The fire which sparkles 
so joyously on the hearth when the white flowers 
of the frost cover the panes, and when silence 
reigns in the valley, that fire which I had so often 
gazed at for half an hour at a time while smoking 
my pipe, thinking of a thousand things that passed 
through my head, now gave me none but melan- 
choly thoughts. The fagots wept; poor Ragot 
sought in every corner, he wandered up stairs and » 
down and smelt under all the doors; Calas wove 
baskets in silence, the oziers piled in front of him; 
grandmother Anne told her beads, and Marie-Rose, 

13 


Brigadier Bredenice 


very pale and dressed in black, came and went 
through the house, watching over all and doing 
everything without noise like her poor mother. 
As for me, I said nothing ; when death has entered 
anywhere all lamentations that one makes are pure 
loss. Yes, that winter was long! 

And then the spring came as in other years; 
the firs and beech trees put forth their buds; the 
windows were opened to renew the air: the great 
pear tree before the door became covered with 
white flowers ; all the birds of the air began once 
more to sing, to chase each other, and to build 
nests as if nothing had happened. 

I also returned to my work, accompanying the 
chief guard, M. Rameau, in his circuits in order to 
direct the wood felling, overlooking the works 
from a distance, leaving early in the morning and 
returning late, at the last song of the thrushes. 

My grief pursued me everywhere, and yet I 
had still the consolation of seeing Marie-Rose grow 
in strength and beauty in a truly marvellous way. 

It is not, George, because I was her father that 
I tell you this, but you would have had to search 
for a long time from Saverne to Lutzelstein before 
finding as fresh-looking a young girl with as trim 
a figure, as honest an air, with such beautiful blue 
eyes and such magnificent fair hair. And how 

14 


Brigadier Frederick 


well she understood all kinds of work, whether in 
the house or out of doors! Ah, yes, I may well 
say it, she was a beautiful creature, gentle and yet 
strong. 

Often coming in at night and seeing her at the 
head of the stairs, signing to me that she had 
waited supper a long time for me, then running 
down the stairs and holding out to me her fresh 
cheek, I have often thought : 

“« She is still handsomer than her mother was at 
the same age ; she has the same good sense. Don’t 
lament over your misfortunes, Frederick, for many 
people would envy your lot in having such a child, 
who gives you so much satisfaction.” 

One thing only made the tears come, that is 
when I thought of my wife, then I cried to my- 
self : 

“ Ah! if Catherine could come back to see 
her, she would be very happy !” 

About the same time other ideas entered my 
head ; the epoch of my retirement was approach- 
ing, and as Marie-Rose had entered her seven- 
teenth year, I thought of finding her a good and 
nice young fellow from among the foresters, in 
whose house I could tranquilly end my days, in 
the midst of my children and grandchildren, and 
who, taking my place, would respect me as I had 

15 


Brigadier Frederick 


respected my father-in-law Burat, when succeed- 
ing him twenty years before. 

I thought of it; it was my principal idea, and 
I had even some one in view, a tall and handsome 
young man from Felsberg, who had left the horse 
guards three or four years before, and who had 
just been appointed forest guard at Témenthal, 
near our house. His name was Jean Merlin, and 
he was already experienced in the duties of a for- 
ester, having passed his apprenticeship at hed? 
heim, in Alsace. 

The young fellow pleased me first because he 
had a good character, afterward because Marie- 
Rose regarded him with a favourable eye. I had 
remarked that she always blushed a little when 
she saw him enter the house to make his report, 
and that he never failed to appear in full dress, 
carefully shaved, his little cap with its hunting 
horn badge, adorned with an oak leaf or a sprig of 
heather, which sets off a man; and that his voice, 
which was a little gruff, became very gentle in 
saying, ““Good day, Mlle. Marie-Rose; I hope 
you are quite well? What beautiful weather we 
are having—the sun is shining finely,” etc. He 
appeared embarrassed; and Marie-Rose also an- 
swered him timidly. It was very clear that they 


loved and admired each other, a natural thing 
16 


Brigadier Frederick 


when one is old enough to get married. It always 
has been and always will be so; it is a blessing of 
Providence. 

Therefore I found no evil in it, on the con- 
trary I thought : “When he asks her of me ac- 
cording to custom, we-will see about it. I will 
say neither yes nor no at once; one must not have 

the air of throwing one’s self at people’s heads ; 
but I will, and by yielding, for neither must one 
break young people’s hearts.” . 

Those were the ideas that I revolved in my 
head. ) 

Besides which the young man was of good 
family ; he had his uncle, Daniel Merlin, who was 
schoolmaster at Felsberg ; his father had been ser- 
geant in a regiment of infantry, and his mother, 
Margredel, though she lived with him in the for- 
ester’s house at Témenthal, possessed at Felsberg 
a cottage, a garden, and four or five acres of good 
land ; one could not desire a match in every way 
more advantageous. ‘ 

And seeing that everything seemed to go ac- 
cording to my wishes, almost every evening when 
I returned from my circuits through the woods, in 
the path which skirts the valley of Désenheim, at 
the moment when the sun is setting, when the 
silence spreads itself with the shadow of the forest 

2 17 


' 


Brigadier Frederick 


over the great meadows of La Zinzelle—that si- 
lence of the solitude, scarcely broken by the mur- 
mur of the little river—almost every evening, 
walking thoughtfully along, I pictured to myself 
the peace that my children would have in this 
corner of the world, their pleasant home, the birth 
of little beings whom we would carry to Désen- 
heim to have them baptized in the old church, 
and other similar things, which touched my heart 
and made me say : : 

“Lord God, it is all sure; these’ things will 
happen. And when you grow old, Frederick, 
very old, your back bent by age, like grandmother 
Anne, and your head quite white, you will pass 
away quietly, satisfied with years, and blessing the 
young brood. And long after you are gone, that 
brave Jean Merlin, with Marie-Rose, will keep 
you in remembrance.” 

In picturing all this to myself, I halted regu- 
larly on the path above the forester house of Jean 
Merlin, looking beneath at the little tiled roof, 
the garden surrounded with palisades, and the 
yard whence the mother of Jean drove her ducks 
and fowls into the poultry-yard towards night, for 
foxes were not wanting in that outskirt of the for- 
est. I looked down from above, and I cried, rais- 
ing my cap, “ Hilloa! Margredel, good evening.” 

18 


Brigadier Frederick 


Then she would raise her eyes, and joyously 
reply to me, ‘Good evening, Mr. Brigadier. Are 
all well at your house ?” 

“Why, yes, Margredel, very well, Heaven be 
praised.” Then I would come down through the 
brushwood, and we would shake hands. 

She was a good woman, always gay and laugh- 
ing, because of her great confidence in God, which 
made her always look upon the bright side of 
things. Without ever having said anything to 
each other, we knew very well of what we were 
each thinking ; we only needed to talk about the 
weather to understand all the rest. 

And when, after having had a good gossip, I 
went away, Margredel would still call after me, in 
her rather cracked voice, for she was nearly sixty 
years old, “A pleasant walk to you, Brigadier. 
Don’t forget Mlle. Marie-Rose and the grand- 
mother.” ° 

“Don’t be afraid. Ill forget nothing.” 

She would make a sign with her head to me 
that it was all right, and I would go off with 
lengthening steps. 

It sometimes happened to me also, sometimes 
when my circuit was finished before five o'clock, 
to find Jean near the house, at the other side of 
the valley, in the path that skirted our orchard, 

Ig 


Brigadier Frederick 


and Marie-Rose in the garden picking vegetables. 
They were each on their own side, and were talk- 
ing across the hedge without appearing to do so; 
they were telling things to each other. 

That reminded me of the happy time when I 
was courting Catherine, and I came up very softly 
over the heather till I was within twenty steps be- 
hind them, and then I cried, ‘“‘ Ho! ho! Jean Mer- 
lin, is it like this that you perform your duties? I 
catch you saying fine words to the pretty girls.” 

Then he turned round, and I saw his embar- 
rassed look. 

‘“‘Excuse me, Brigadier,” he said, ‘‘I came to 
see you on business, and I was conversing with 
Mlle. Marie-Rose while waiting for you.” 

“Oh, yes, that is all very well; we will see to 
that. I do not trust foxes myself.” 

And other jokes without end. You can under- 
stand, George, that happiness had returned to us. 

I had as much confidence in Jean Merlin as in 
Marie-Rose and in myself. The evil race that de- 
ceives does not exist in our country ; it has always 
come from elsewhere. 


20 


Brigadier Frederick 


IV 


Turincs went on like this throughout the 
whole year 1868. Jean Merlin took every possible 
occasion to present himself at the house, either on 
business connected with his office, or else to con- 
sult me on his family affairs. He had but one 
fear, that was of being refused. Sometimes, when 
we were walking together in the woods, I saw 
him musing, with drooping head; he seemed to 
wish to speak; he raised his voice suddenly, and 
then was silent. 

For my part, I wished that he would be a little 
more courageous, but I could not open the sub- 
ject; that would not have been proper for his 
superior; I awaited his formal proposal, thinking 
that he would end by writing to me, or by send- 
ing me one of his relatives to make a ceremonious 
declaration: his uncle Daniel, for instance, the 
schoolmaster of Felsberg, a respectable man, who 
was able to take charge of so delicate a commis- 
sion. 

It often happened to me also to reflect upon 
what concerned me particularly. I asked nothing 
better than to see my daughter happy, but I had 
to try to arrange all interests in accord as much as 


possible. When one thinks of nothing, every- 
2! 


Brigadier Frederick 


thing appears simple and easy, and yet the best 
things have their evil side. 

I had still nearly two years to serve before re- 
tiring, but after that, if my son-in-law was not 
named brigadier in my place, we would be forced 
to quit the old house, where I had passed so many 
years, with the beings who were dear to me— 
father-in-law Burat, my poor wife, grandmother 
Anne, everybody, in fact; and we would be 
obliged to abandon all that to go live in a land 
which I did not know, and among strange faces. 

That idea made me wretched. I knew well 
that Marie-Rose and Jean Merlin would always 
respect me as their father; of that I was sure. 
But the habit of turning round in the same corner 
and of seeing the same things becomes a second 
nature, and that is why old hares and old foxes, 
even when they have received gunshot wounds in 
the neighbourhood of their lair or their hole, al- 
ways return there; they need the sight of the 
brushwood and the tuft of grass, which recall to 
them their youth, their love, and even the annoy- 
ances and the sorrows which, in the long run, 
make up three-quarters of our existence, and to 
which we become as strongly attached as to mem- 
ories of happiness. _ | 

Ah! I never should have believed that any- 

22 


Brigadier Frederick 


thing worse could happen to me than to retire 
with my children into a country of fir trees like 
ours, and into a little house like my own. | 

These things made me very uneasy, and, since 
the departure of President Miinsch, I no longer 
knew of whom I could ask a bit of good advice, 
when at length all was settled in a very happy 
way, which touches my heart even now when I 
think of it. 


V 


You must know that, during the years 1867, 
1868, and 1869, roads were being made in all di- 
rections, to facilitate the wood-cutting and to 
transport the wood to the railway and the canal. 
M. Laroche, Forest Inspector of the Canton of 
Lutzelstein, directed these great works. He was 
a man of fifty-five years of age, robust and serious, 
who thought of nothing but his business ; hunting 
and fishing were not among his tastes ; to be well 
noticed by him, there was no question of being a 
good shot or a skilful trapper; it was necessary to 
serve him well. 

He often came himself to the place, explaining 
clearly the declivity to be followed, the trees which 
ought to be felled, etc. ; unless one was idiotic, he 


23 


Brigadier Frederick 


could not but understand. Things went on this 
way briskly and well. Naturally, such a man 
would know all his workmen thoroughly, and 
when he was satisfied, he would address to you 
some of those kind words that make your heart 
light. 

For my part, I think that he took an interest 
in me, for often, after hearing my report in his 
office at Lutzelstein, he would say to me, “ That 
is very good, very good, Father Frederick!” and 
would even shake hands with me. 

Towards the spring of 1869 the order arrived 
to repair the road which descends from Petite 
Pierre to the valley of Graufthal, in order to join 
the new highway from Saverne to Metting; the 
junction fell near the saw-mill, not far from the 
foresters house; I had to go, therefore, every 
working day with my brigade to survey the 
works. 

The first part was almost finished, and they 
had commenced to blow up the rocks below, near 
the valley, to level the road, when, one morning, 
going to make my usual report at Lutzelstein, the 
inspector received me particularly well. 

It was about ten o'clock, his breakfast hour, 
and he had just reached his house as I rang. 

“Ah! it is you, Father Frederick,” said he, 

24 


Brigadier Frederick 


gaily, as he opened his door; “fine weather this 
morning. All right down yonder ?” 

“Yes, sir, all is going well, according to your 
orders.” 

“Very good,” said he. ‘Sit down, I have 
something to say to you. You will breakfast with 
me. My wife is with her parents in Champagne; 
you will keep me company.” 

Often, when I arrived at breakfast time, he 
would offer me a glass of wine, but the idea had 
never occurred to him to give me a place at his 
table. 

“Sit down there,” said he. ‘“ Here, Virginie, 
bring a plate for the brigadier. You can bring in 
breakfast.” 

Imagine my astonishment and my satisfaction. 
I did not know how to thank him; he did not 
seem to see my embarrassment. He commenced 
by taking off his tunic and putting on his coat, 
asking me: ‘‘ You have a good appetite, Father 
Frederick ?” 

“Yes, sir, that never fails me.” 

“So much the better! Taste this beefsteak ; 
Virginie is a good cook; you will tell me what 
you think of it. . Here’s to your health!” 

“‘Here’s to yours, sir.” 

I felt as if I were dreaming ; I said to myself, 

Vol. 11—D 25 


Brigadier Frederick 


“Ts this really you, Frederick, who are breakfast- 
ing here in this handsome room, with your supe- 
rior, and who are drinking this good wine?” And 
I felt embarrassed. 

M. Laroche, on the contrary, grew more and 
more familiar, so that, finally, after three or four © 
glasses, I discovered that the thing was quite 
natural. Because his wife was not at home, I 
thought that he was glad to have me to talk over 
the felling of the timber, the new clearings, and 
our road from Graufthal; so I grew bolder, and 
answered him laughing, and almost without em- 
barrassment. 

Things went on thus for about twenty min- 
utes; Mlle. Virginie had brought in the biscuits, 
almonds, and Gruyére cheese, when, throwing 
himself back in his chair, and looking at me good- 
humouredly, ‘It is very agreeable,” said he, “to 
be as well as we are, at our age. Ha! ha! ha! we 
have not yet lost our teeth, Father Frederick !” 

“No, indeed ; they are well-rooted, sir.” And 
I laughed, too. 

“How old are you?” he asked. 

“‘T shall soon be fifty, sir.” 

“ And I am fifty-five. Well, well, it is all the 
same ; the time for retiring is approaching ; one of 
these days they will slit our ears,” 

20 


Brigadier Frederick 


He was still laughing. As for me, when I 
thought of that, I was not so gay as before. 

Then he passed me the cheese, saying : ‘‘ What 
do you think of doing two years from now? For 
my part, my wife wants to take me into her 
country, Champagne. That is a great bore; I 
do not like the plains; but, you know, ‘A wilful 
woman will have her way.’ It is a proverb, and 
all proverbs have an astounding air of good 
sense.” 

“Ves, sir,” I answered ; “such proverbs as that 
are really annoying, for I could never leave the 
mountains; I am too used tothem. If I had to 
go, I should not live two weeks. There would be 
nothing left to do but throw on me the last hand- 
ful of earth.” 

“Without doubt,” he said; ‘but when the 
young people come, the old people must give up 
their place.” 

In spite of the good wine, I had become quite 
silent, thinking of those unfortunate things, when 
he said to me: “In your place, Father Frederick, 
do you know what I would do? Since you love 
the mountains so, since it is, so to speak, your 
existence to live in the forest—well, I would look 
out for a son-in-law among the foresters; a good 
fellow, who would take my place and with whom 

27 


Brigadier Frederick 


I would live tranquilly till the end, in the midst of 
the green caps and the smell of the firs.” 

“Ah! that is so, sir; I think of it every day; 
but 

“But what?” he said. ‘What hinders you ? 
You have a pretty daughter, you are a sensible 
man; what embarrasses you? It is not for want 





of choice, I hope; in the inspector's guard, big 
Kern, Donadieu, Nicolas Trompette, would ask 
nothing better than to become your son-in-law. 
And that good Jean Merlin. He is what one 
might call a model forester—frank, active, intelli- 
gent, and who would answer your purpose ad- 
mirably. His record is excellent ; he stands first 
on the list for promotion, and, upon my word, 
Father Frederick, I think that, on your retreat, he 
has a good chance of succeeding you.” 

When I heard that, I got red up to my ears, 
and I could not help saying, ‘‘ That is true! No 
one has anything to say against Jean Merlin; I 
have never seen a better or more honest fellow; 
but I cannot offer my daughter to people who 
please me; Merlin has never spoken to me of 
marriage with Marie-Rose, neither has his mother 
Margredel, nor his uncle Daniel; not any of the 
family. You can understand, sir, that I cannot 
make the advances; it would not be proper! Be- 

28 


Brigadier Frederick 


side, everything ought to be done decently and in 
order ; the proposal ought to be made regularly !” 

He was going to answer, when Mlle. Virginie 
came in to pour out the coffee, so he took a box 
from the mantelpiece, saying, ‘‘ Let us light our 
cigars, Father Frederick.” 

I saw that he was amused, and when the serv- 
ant went out he cried, laughing, ‘“‘Come, now, 
Father Frederick, do you really need some one to 
tell you that Marie-Rose and Jean Merlin love 
each other with all their hearts? And must Uncle 
Daniel come and declare it to you in a black hood 
and with buckled shoes ?” 

He laughed loudly, and as I sat in surprise : 

“Well,” said he, ‘here is the affair in two 
words : The other day Jean Merlin was so melan- 
choly that I asked him if he was sick, and the 
poor fellow confessed to me, with tears in his 
eyes, what he called his misfortune. You are so 
serious and respectable-looking that none of the 
family dared to make the proposal, and the good 
people thought that I would have some influence. - 
Must I put on my grand uniform, Father Fred- 
erick ?” 

He was so gay that, notwithstanding my 
trouble, I answered : ‘“ Oh, sir, now all is well!” 

“Then you consent ?” 

29 


Brigadier Frederick 


‘‘Do I consent? I have never wished for any- 
thing else. Yes, yes, I consent, and I thank you. 
You can say, M. Laroche, that to-day you have 
rendered Frederick the happiest of men.” | 

I had already risen and had put my bag upon 
my shoulder, when the chief guard, Rameau, en- 
tered, on business connected with the service. 

“You are going, Frederick?” asked the in- 
spector. ‘Are you not going to empty your 
cup ?” 

“Ah! M. Laroche,” I said, “I am too happy 
to keep quiet. The children are waiting for me, I 
am sure ; I must go carry them the good news.” 

“Go, then, go,” he said, rising and accom-- 
panying me to the door; ‘you are right not to 
delay the young people’s happiness.” 

He shook hands with me, and I left, after sa- 
luting M. Rameau. 


VI 


I wENT away so happy that I could not see 
clearly. It was only at the end of the street, in 
going down at the left again, towards the valley, 
that I awoke from this great confusion of joyous 


ideas. 
30 


Brigadier Frederick 


I had perhaps taken a little drop too mtch; I 
must confess, George, that the good wine had daz- 
zled my eyes a little; but my legs were solid, 
nevertheless, and I went as if I were just twenty 
years old, laughing and saying to myself : 

“Frederick, now everything is according to 
rule, no one will have anything to say; it is the 
inspector himself who has made the proposal and 
that is a thousand times better than if it had been 
Uncle Daniel. Ha! ha! ha! what luck! Won't 
they be happy when they learn that I consent ; 
that all is arranged and that there is nothing left 
to do but to sing the Gloria in Excelsis? Ha! 
ha! ha! And you can laugh, too, for all has 
gone as you wished it. You will stay in this 
country to the end of your existence; you will 
see the woods from your window, and you will 
smell the sweet odours of the resin and the moss 
till you are eighty years of age. That is what you 
needed, to say nothing of the rest; of the chil- 
dren, the grand-children, etc.” 

I wanted to dance as I descended the Fro- 
muhle road. 

It was then about six o’clock, and night was 
approaching ; with the coolness of the evening the 
frogs were beginning their music in the midst of 
the reeds, and the high grasses of the pool, and 

31 


Brigadier Frederick 


the old fir trees on the other side of the shore 
showed blue against the darker sky. I stopped 
from time to time to look at them and I thought : 

“You are fine trees, straight and full of good 
sap, and so you will remain there for a long time 
to come. The sun will delight your evergreen 
tops till you are marked for the axe of the wood- 
cutter. Then that will be the end, but the little 
firs will have grown up in your shadow and the 
place will never be vacant.” 

And while thinking of that, I recommenced 
my march, quite touched, and I cried: 

“Yes, Frederick, such will be your lot. You 
loved father-in-law Burat, you supported him when 
he could not do anything, in consideration of the 
confidence he had reposed in you, and because he 
was a good man, an old servant of the state and a 
man to be respected. Now it is your turn to be 
loved and supported by those who are full of 
youth ; you will be in the midst of them like one 
of these old fir trees, covered with white moss. 
The poor old things, they deserved to live, for if 
they had not grown up straight they would have 
been cut down long ago to be made into logs and 
fagots.” | 

I blessed Providence which never lets the hon- 
est perish, and it is thus that I arrived, towards 

32 


Brigadier Frederick 


seven o'clock in the evening, on the Scienie road 
at the bottom of the valley. I saw the forester 
house at the left, near the bridge. Ragot was 
barking, Calas was bringing the cattle back to the 
stable, shouting and cracking his whip, the flock 
of ducks on the bank of the river were scratching 
and picking themselves around their necks and 
under their wings and tails, while awaiting the 
hour of going to roost ; some chickens were still 
pecking in the courtyard, and two or three half- 
plucked old hens were napping in the shadow of 
the little wall. 

Then, seeing Ragot running to meet me, I 
said to myself : 

“Flere we are. Now attention, First you 
are going to speak. Jean Merlin must be there 
for certain. All must be quite clear beforehand.” 


Vil 


I went up the stairs and I saw Marie-Rose in 
the lower room, with bare arms; she was knead- 
ing dough and rolling it out flat, with the rolling- 
pin, on our large table, to make noodles. She had 
seen me in the distance and continued her work 
without raising her eyes. 


° 33 


Brigadier Frederick 


“You are working hard, Marie-Rose,” I re- 
marked to her. 

“Ah! it is you, father,” said she; ‘I am mak- 
ing noodles.” 

“Yes, it is I,” I replied, hanging my bag 
against the wall; ‘“‘ I have come from the inspec- 
tor’s.. Has any one been here?” 

“Yes, father, Jean Merlin came to make his 
report, but he went away again.” 

“Ah! he went away again, did he? Very 
good! he has not gone far, I guess ; we have some 
very important business to talk over!” 

I came and went, looking at the dough, the 
basket of eggs, the little bowl of flour and Marie- 
Rose, working away without opening her lips. 

Finally I stopped and said to her: 

“See here, Marie-Rose, it is right to be in- 
dustrious, but we have something else to do just 
now. What is this that I have just heard at the 
inspector's? Is it true that you love Jean Mer- 
lin?” 

As I spoke she let fall the rolling pin and 
flushed scarlet. 

“Yes,” I said; “that’s the point! I don't 
mean to scold you about it; Jean Merlin is a nice 
fellow, and a good forester, and I am not angry at 
him. In my time I loved your mother dearly, 

34 


Brigadier Frederick 


and father Burat, who was my superior, neither 
chased me away nor swore at me because of it. It 
is a natural thing when one is young to think of 
getting married. But when one wishes to marry 
an honest girl, one must first ask her of her father, 
so that every one may be agreed. Everything 
‘ought to be conducted sensibly.” 

She was very much embarrassed, for on_hear- 
ing that she ran to get a pot of mignonette and 
placed it on the sill of the open window, an action 
which filled me with surprise, for my wife, Cath- 
erine, had done the same thing on the day of my 
proposal to call me in; and almost at once Merlin 
came out of the clump of trees under the rocks 
opposite, where I also had hidden, and ran across 
_ the meadow as I myself had run, twenty-three 
years before ! 

Then, seeing these things, I did also what old 
Burat had done. I placed myself in the hall before 
the door of the room, my daughter behind me; 
and as Merlin entered, all out of breath, I drew 
myself up and said to him: 

“ Merlin, is it true what the inspector tells me ; 
that you love my daughter and ask her in mar- 
riage ?” 

‘Yes, brigadier,” he answered me, placing his 
hand on his heart, ‘I love her better than life |” » 


35 


Brigadier Frederick 


At the same time he wished to speak to Marie- 
Rose, but I cried : 

“Stop a minute! You love her and she has 
found out that she loves you. That is very nice 
—it is agreeable to love each other! But you 
must think also of the others, of the old people. 
When I married Catherine Burat I promised to 
keep her father and mother till the end of their 
days, and I have kept my word, like every man of 
honour; I have loved them, cared for them, and 
venerated them; they have always had the first 
place at table, the first glass of wine, the best bed 
in the house. Grandmother Anne, who still lives, 
is there to say it. It was only my duty, and if I 
had not done it I would have been a villain; but 
they have never had any complaints to make, and 
on his death-bed father Burat blessed me and said : 
‘ Frederick has always been to us like the best of 
sons!’ I deserve, therefore, to have the same, and 
I wish to have it because it is just! Well, now 
that you have heard me, will you promise to be to 
me what I was to father Burat ?” 

‘“‘ Ah ! brigadier,” said he, ‘I would be the hap- 
piest of men to have you for a father! Yes, yes, 
I promise to be a good son to you; I promise to 
love you always and to respect you as you de- 


” 


serve. 
36 


‘3 
2 
3 
a 


a 


ah 























eFreaeik | 


ry i pees and f said - = 

B case, al might ; I give fou the: init 
‘ns and you may kiss her” 
aise each other right before me, like 
- i: ie on that they were. Marie-Rose 
dalled the grandmother, inte . 
id ee 5 she. came leaning on my ‘arm 
us $ all; saying : | 
[ ean, ‘die in ‘peace, (1 have seen my- 
hic a happy, and loved by an honest 




















<eaGN 
Bah 


ne en nding her grend-children: to God. 
arie-Rose gid not weary of talking. 

nd looking at each other. I-walked to 

in 3 Jatge room and told them: 
: + you. ‘are affianced. Jean can come 

| . whether I am at home or gone’ 


) lace me- at my TE that cannot he far 
then | Wwe will celetirate the marriage.” 
| ea news dugmented their satletacelon: 


ee Se 


mised “bride. We accompaniéd him out as far 


at day till evening she did-not stop * 








Brigadier Frederick 

Then I was touched, and I said: 

“Tn that case, all right; I give you the hand 
of Marie-Rose, and you may kiss her.” 

They kissed each other right before me, like 
two good children that they were. Marie-Rose 
wept profusely. I called the grandmother into 
the little side-room ; she came leaning on my arm 
and blessed us all, saying : 

““Now I can die in peace, I have seen my 
grand-daughter happy, and loved by an honest 
man.” 

And all that day till evening she did not stop 
praying, commending her grand-children to God. 
Merlin and Marie-Rose did not weary of talking 
together and looking at each other. I walked to 
and fro in the large room and told them: 

“Now you are affianced. Jean can come 
whenever he likes, whether I am at home or gone 
out. The inspector told me that he was first on 
the list for promotion, and that he would doubt- 
less replace me at my retreat ; that cannot be far 
off now ; then we will celebrate the marriage.” 

This good news augmented their satisfaction. 

Night came on, and Jean Merlin, so as not to 
worry his mother, rose and kissed once more his 
promised bride. We accompanied him out as far 
as the great pear tree. The weather was magnifi- 


37 


Brigadier Frederick 


cent, the sky glittering with stars; not a bird nor 
a leaf was stirring, all were sleeping in the valley. 
And as Merlin pressed my hand I said to him 
again : 

“You will tell your mother, Margredel, to 
come without fail to-morrow before noon; Marie- 
Rose will get you up a good dinner, and we will 
celebrate the betrothal together ; it is the greatest 
festival in one’s life; and if Uncle Daniel could 
also come we should be very glad of it.” 

“Very well, Father Frederick,” he said, and 
then he walked swiftly away. 

We went in again with tears in our eyes, 
And thinking of my poor Catherine, I said to 
myself: 

“There are still some pleasant days in life; 
why is my good, my excellent wife no longer 
with us?” 

It was the only bitter moment I had during 
that day. 


Vill 


You understand, George, that after this, all 
went on well. I had nothing more to think of but 
my service. Jean Merlin and his mother Margre- 
del came to pass every Sunday at our house. 

38 


Brigadier Frederick 


It was autumn, the opening of the season for 
hunting and fishing; the time for bird catching 
and snare setting in the woods, and for fishing 
baskets and nets at the river. 

The old watchmaker, Baure, of Phalsbourg, 
arrived, as usual, with his great fishing rod and his 
bag for the trout ; Lafleche, Vignerol, and others, 
with their bird calls and limed twigs ; the gentle- 
men from Saverne with their dogs and their guns ; 
they whistled, they yelled; they shot hares and 
sometimes a deer; then all these people came to 
take lunch and refresh themselves at the forester’s 
house ; the smell of frying and of good omelettes, 
with ham, reached to the garden, and we turned a 
penny or two at the house that way. 

As you know all these things, I have no need 
to tell you about them. 

But this year we saw also arrive quantities of 
wood-cutters from the Palatinate, from Bavaria, 
and further; great strapping fellows, with knap- 
sacks on their backs and gaiters with bone buttons 
on their legs, who were going to Neiderviller, to 
Laneville, and to Toul to work at wood felling. 
They passed in bands, their vests hanging from 
the handles of their axes over their shoulders. 

These people emptied their mugs of wine as 
they passed; they were jolly fellows, who filled 

39 


Brigadier Frederick 


the room with smoke from their big porcelain 
pipes, asking questions about everything, laughing 
and joking like people who have no trouble about 
earning their living. 

Naturally I was glad to have them stop at our 
house ; that made business brisk. 

I remember at this time a thing which shows 
the blindness of slow-witted people who are igno- 
rant of what is going on at twenty leagues from 
home, and who trust to the government without 
thinking of anything; a thing of which I am 
ashamed, for we went so far as to laugh at sensi- 
ble men, who warned us to be on our guard! 

One day our whole house was filled with peo- 
ple from the city and the environs ; some of these 
strangers among the rest. They were laughing 
and drinking, and one of the tall Bavarians, with 
red whiskers and big mustaches, who was before 
the window, cried : 

“What a lovely country! What magnificent 
fir trees! What are those old ruins up there—and 
this little wood yonder—and that path to the 
right—and that pass to the left, between the 
rocks? Ah! I have never seen such a country 
for fruit trees or fine water courses. It is rich; it 
is green. Is there not a steeple behind that little 
wood? What is the name of that pretty village ?” 

40 


Brigadier F rederick 


I, who was glad to hear this man so enthusias- 
tic over our valley, I told him about everything in 
detail. 

Baure, Diirr, Vignerol were talking together ; 
they were smoking and going occasionally to the 
kitchen to see if the omelette was nearly ready, 
without troubling their heads about anything else. 

But near the clock sat Captain Rondeau, who 
had returned home several months before having 
retired on a pension, a tall, dry-looking man, with 
hollow cheeks, wearing his black overcoat but- 
toned up to the chin, suffering from wounds re- 
ceived in Italy, Africa, and the Crimea, listening 
without saying anything and drinking a cup of 
milk because Doctor Semperlin had forbidden him 
to take anything else. 

This went on for a whole hour, when the Bava- 
rians, having emptied their mugs, continued their 
journey. I followed them to the door to show 
them the road to Biegelberg ; the tall, red-haired 
man laughed, showing his teeth with a joyous 
air; finally he shook hands with me and cried, 
“Thanks,” as he went to join his band. 

While they were taking their leave, Captain 
Rondeau, leaning on his cane, was standing in the 
doorway, and he watched them go off with glitter- 
ing eyes and compressed lips. 

Vol. 11—E 4I 


Brigadier F rederick 


‘‘Who are those people, Father Frederick ?” 
he said to me. ‘ Do you know them ?” 

“Those are Germans, captain,” I answered 
him ; “wood-cutters; I do not know any more 
about them, except that they are going to Toul, 
to work for some contractors there.” 

‘“Why do they not employ Frenchmen, these 
contractors ?” 

‘* Ah! because these wood-cutters are cheaper 
than ours; they work for half-price.” 

The captain frowned, and all at once he said : 

“Those are spies; people that came to exam. 
ine the mountain.” 

“Spies? How is that ?” I answered, in aston- 
ishment. ‘‘ What have they to spy out here? 
Have they any reason to meddle in our affairs ?” 
he said, dryly; 
“they came to take a look at our positions.” 

Then I believed almost that he was joking 
with me, and I said to him: 


»” 


“They are Prussian spies, 


“ But, Captain Rondeau, all the strong points 
are set down, and any one can buy maps of the 
country at Strasburg, or Nancy, or anywhere.” 

But, looking at me askance, he exclaimed : 

“Maps! maps! And do your maps tell how 
much hay, and straw, and wheat, and oats, and 
wine, and oxen, and horses and wagons can be put 

42 


Brigadier Frederick 


into requisition in each village for an army on the 
march? Do they tell you where the mayor lives, 
or the curé, or the postmaster, or the receiver of 
contributions, so that one can lay one’s hand upon 
them at any minute, or where stables can be found 
to lodge the horses, and a thousand other things 
that are useful to know beforehand? Maps, in- 
deed! Do your maps tell the depth of the streams, 
or the situation of the fords? Do they point out 
to you the guides that are best to take or the 
people that must be seized because they might 
rouse up the populace ?” 

And as I remained, my arms hanging at my 
sides, surprised at these things, of which I had 
never thought, Father Baure cried from the 
room : 

“Well, captain, who is it that would want to 
attack us? The Germans? Ha! ha! ha! Let 
them come! let them come! We'll give them a 
warm reception. Poor devils! I would not like 
to be in their skins. Ha! ha! ha! We would 
settle them! Not one should go out alive from 
these mountains.” 

All the others laughed and cried out: ‘“ Yes! 
yes! let them come! Let them try it! We'll 
give them a good reception !” 

Then the captain re-entered the room, and, 

43 


‘ 


Brigadier Frederick 


looking at big Fischer, who was shouting the loud- 
est, he asked of him: 

“ You would receive them? With what? Do 
you know what you are talking about? Where 
are our troops, our supplies, our arms; where, 
where, where, I ask of you? And do you know 
how many of them there are, these Germans? Do 
you know that they are a million of men, exer- 
cised, disciplined, organized, ready to start at two 
weeks’ notice—artillery, cavalry, infantry? Do 
you know that? Yoz will receive them !” 

“Yes,” cried Father Baure, ‘‘ Phalsbourg, with 
Bitche, Lichtenberg, and Schlestadt, would stop 
them for twenty years.” 

Captain Rondeau did not even take the trouble 
to reply, and, pointing from the window to the 
wood-cutters that were going away, he said to me: 

“ Look, Father Frederick, look! Are those _ 
men wood-cutters ? Do our wood-cutters march in 
ranks? do they keep step? do they keep their 
shoulders thrown back and their heads straight, 
and do they obey a chief who keeps them in order? 
Do not our wood-cutters and those of the moun- 
tains all have rounded shoulders and a heavy gait ? 
These men are not even mountaineers ; they come 
from the plains; they are spies. Yes, they are 
spies, and I mean to have them arrested.” 

44 


Brigadier Frederick 


And, without listening to what might be an- 
swered, he threw some sous on the table in pay- 
ment for his cup of milk, and went out abruptly. 

He was scarcely outside the door when all who 
were present burst out laughing. I signed to them 
to be quiet, for that the captain could still hear 
them; then they held their sides and snuffled 
through their noses, saying: 

» “What fun! what fun! The Germans coming 
to attack us!” 

Father Baure, while wiping his eyes with his 
handkerchief, said : 

“ He is a good fellow; but he got a rap at the 
Malakoff, and since then his clock has been out of 
order, and it always strikes noon at fourteen 
o'clock.” 

The others recommenced laughing, like real 
madmen, so that I thought, George, myself, that 
the captain had not common sense. 

All that comes back to me as if it had taken 
place yesterday, and two or three days later, hav- 
ing learned that the captain had caused the wood- 
cutters to be arrested in a body at the Lutzelbourg 
station, and that, their papers being all right, they 
had obtained authorization to continue their jour- 
ney into Lorraine, notwithstanding all the repre- 
sentations and the observations of M. Rondeau, I 

45 


Brigadier Frederick 


believed decidedly that the worthy man was 
cracked. 

Every time that Baure came to the forester’s 
house he would begin upon the chapter of the 
German spies, and made me very merry over it. 
But to-day we have ceased laughing, and I am sure 
that the jokers of Phalsbourg no longer rub their 
hands when the /e/dwedel makes his rod whistle 
while calling to the conscripts on the parade ground, 
“ Gewehr auf /—Gewehr ab/” Yam sure that this 
sight has more than once recalled to them the 
captain’s warning. 


IX 


Tus took place at the end of the autumn of 
1869; the valley was already filled with mist ; then 
came the winter: the snow began to whirl before 
the panes, the fire to crackle in the furnace, and 
the spinning-wheel of Marie-Rose to hum from 
morning till night, to the accompaniment of the 
monotonous ticking of the old clock. 

I paced to and fro, smoking my pipe, and 
thinking of my retreat. Doubtless Marie-Rose 
thought of it also, and Merlin spoke to me some- 
times about hurrying up the marriage, which an- 

46 


Brigadier Frederick 


noyed me considerably, for when I have said my 
say, | am done, and, since we had agreed to cele- 
brate the marriage the day of his nomination, I 
did not see the use of talking over an affair already 
decided. 

But the young people were in a hurry; the 
dulness of the season and the impatience of youth 
were the causes. 

For two months past, Baure, Vignerol, Diirr, 
and the others came no more; the trees bent un- 
der their load of icicles; no one passed the house 
any more, except some rare travellers afar off in 
the valley. The history of the captain’s spies, 
which had made me laugh so much, had entirely 
gone out of my head, when an extraordinary thing 
proved to me clearly that the old soldier had not 
been wrong in distrusting the Prussians, and ‘that 
other people thought of dealing foul blows—people 
high in rank, in whom we had placed all our confi- 
dence. 

That year several herds of wild boars ravaged 
thecountry. These animals scratched up the newly- 
sown grain; they dug up the ground in the woods 
to find roots, and came down every night to tear 
up the fields around the farms and the hamlets. 

The peasants were never done lamenting and 
complaining; when, finally, we heard that Baron 

47 


Brigadier Frederick 


Pichard had arrived to organize a general battle. 
I received at the same time the order to go and 
join him, at his rendezvous of Rothfelz, with the 
best marksmen of the brigade, as many of the 
huntsmen of the neighbourhood as I could get. 

It was in December I started with Merlin, big 
Kern, Donadieu, Trompette, and fifteen or twenty 
hunters, and in the evening we found up there all 
the baron’s guests, filling the rooms of the little 
hunting lodge, lying on straw, eating, drinking, 
and joking as usual. 

But you know all about those things, George; 
you remember also the hunting lodge at Rothfelz, 
the cries of the hunters, the barking of the dogs, 
and the danger of the guests, who fired in every 
direction but the right one, in the lines and out of 
the lines, always imagining at the end that they 
had killed the great beast. As for us guards, we 
had always missed. You remember that; it is 
always the same thing. 

What I want to tell you is, that after the hunt, 
in which some wild boars and a few young pigs 
had fallen, they had a grand feast in the hunting 
lodge. The carriages of the baron had contained 
an abundance of everything: wine, cherry brandy, 
wheaten bread, pies, sugar, coffee, cognac; and, 
naturally, towards midnight, after having run 

48 


Brigadier Frederick 


around in the snow, eaten, drunk, howled and 
sung, the party of pleasure wore a dubious aspect. 

We were quartered in the kitchen and well 
supplied with everything, and, as the door of the 
dining-room was open, to air the room, we could 
hear everything that the guests said, particularly 
as they shouted at the tops of their voices, like 
blind men. 

I had noticed among the number a tall, lean 
fellow, with a hooked nose, black eyes, a small 
mustache, a tightly-fitting vest, and muscular legs 
in his high leather gaiters, who handled his small 
gun with singular skill; I said to myself, ‘That 
man, Frederick, is not in the habit of sitting before 
a desk and toasting his calves by the fire; he is 
certainly a soldier, a superior officer !” 

He had been stationed near me in the morning, 
and I had noticed that his two shots had not 
missed their mark. I looked upon him as a real 
huntsman, and so he was. He knew also how to 
drink, for towards midnight three-fourths of the 
guests were already fast asleep in all the corners, 
and, except himself, Baron Pichard, M. Tubingue, 
one of the largest, richest vine-growers in Alsace ;, 
M. Jean Claude Ruppert, the notary, who could 
drink two days running without changing colour 
or saying one word quicker than another ; and M. 

‘ 49 


Brigadier Frederick 


Mouchica, the wood-merchant, whose custom it is 
to intoxicate every one with whom he has any 
dealings—except these, the other guests, extended 
on their bundles of straw, had all left the party. 

Then a loud conversation took place; the 
baron said that the Germans were sending spies 
into Alsace, that they had agents everywhere, dis-. 
guised as servants or commercial travellers or ped- 
dlers; that they were drawing out maps of the 
roads, the paths, the forests; that they even pene- 
trated into our arsenals and sent notes regularly to’ 
Germany ; that they had done the same thing in. 
Schleswig-Holstein before commencing the war, 
and then in Bohemia, before Sadowa; that they 
were not to be trusted, etc. 

The notary and M. Mouchica agreed with him 
that it was a very serious business, and that our 
government ought to take measures to stop this 
spy system. 

Naturally, when we heard that, we listened. 
with all our ears, when the officer began to laugh, 
saying that he was more ready to believe what the 
baron said because we were doing the same thing 
in Germany ; that we had engineers in all the for-. 
tresses and staff-officers in all their valleys. . And 
M. Tubingue having said that that was impossible, : 
that no French officer would behave that way, .be- 

50 : 


Brigadier Frederick 


cause of the honour of the army, he began to laugh 
_ still louder, and said : 

“But, my dear sir, what is war now? It isan 
art, a game, an open contest ; they look over each 
other's hands and each tries to make out the cards 
of his adversary. Look at me; I have gone all 
through the Palatinate as a commercial traveller ; 
I sold Bordeaux to those good Germans!” 

Then, laughing still more, the gentleman re- 
lated all that he had seen on his road, just like 
what Captain Rondeau had said that the Prussians 
were doing here, adding that we were only wait- 
ing for an excuse to seize on the left bank of the 
Rhine. 

When they heard that, my guards began to 
stamp their feet with delight, as if their fortune 
was made; and at once the door was closed, and 
we heard nothing more. 

I went out into the air, for the stupidity of 
big Kern, Trompette, and the others disgusted me. 

It was very cold outside; the platform was 
white with frost and the moon over the bristling 
old firs was peeping between the clouds. 

“What is the matter, brigadier?” asked Mer- 
lin, who had followed me; ‘“‘you look pale. Do 
you feel sick ?” 

“Yes, the stupidity of Trompette and the 

51 


Brigadier Frederick 


others has upset me; I should like to know what 
made them stamp,” I answered. ‘And you, too, 
Merlin ; you surprise me! You think that it isa 
fine thing to invade the country of our neigh- 
bours; to carry off the wheat, the wine, the hay, 
and the straw of poor people, who never did us 
any harm. You think it is fine to take their 
country and to make them French, in spite of 
themselves. That is sport. You think that is 
sport! Would you like to become a German? 
Would you like to obey the Prussians and put 
aside your country for another? What would it 
profit us to do such a thing as that? Would it 
make us richer to tear out the souls of our neigh- 
bours? Would that leave us with a good con- 
science? Well, for my part, I would not, for the 
honour of our nation, have an ill-gotten centzme 
or inch of land. I do not want to believe what 
that gentleman says. If it is true, so much the 
worse! Even if we were the strongest to-day, the 
Germans, from father to son, would think only 
of vengeance, of returning to their rights, of 
reclaiming their blood. Would the good God be 
just to abandon them? There are only beings 
without hearts and without religion who are capa- 
ble of believing it; gamblers, who imagine stu- 
pidly that they will always win. Nevertheless, we 
52 


Brigadier Frederick 


see that many gamblers end their days on a dung- 
hill.” 

“Father Frederick,’ said Merlin, ‘don’t be 
angry with me. I had never thought of all that ; 
it is true. But you are too angry to return to the 
kitchen.” 

“Yes,” I answered, “let us go to sleep; that 
is better than drinking ; there is still room in the 
barn.” 

We did so, and left the next morning at day- 
break. 

What I have just told you, George, is true; I 
have always placed justice above everything, and 
even now, when I have lost all that I loved best 
in the world, I repeat the same thing. I am bet- 
ter pleased in my great misery to be deprived of 
the fruit of my labour for thirty years than to 
have lost my love of justice. 


x 


AFTER that the winter passed as usual; rain, 
snow, great blasts of wind through the leafless 
trees, uprooted firs, dislodged rocks, covering 
with earth the roads and paths at the foot of 

53 


Brigadier Frederick 


the slope. That is what I had seen for twenty- 
five years past. 

Then gradually the spring arrived. The cattle 
again descended to drink at the river. Calas be- 
gan to sing again as he cracked his whip, and the 
cock began to flap his wings on the low wall of 
the poultry-yard, in the midst of his hens, filling 
with his clear voice all the echoes of the valley. 

Ah! how all that comes back to me, George, 
and how beautiful those things to which I then 
paid no attention, appear to me now in this gar- 
ret into which scarcely a ray of light can pene- 
trate. 

It was our last spring at the forest house. 

Marie-Rose, every morning, in her short petti- 
coat, with her clean fichu crossed over her bosom, 
went into the garden with her basket and the old 
earthy knife, to gather the first vegetables. She 
came and went, lifting up the bordering of box 
that edged the little alleys, and tied up the 
branches of the rose bushes that had fallen away 
from their stakes. I saw in the distance Jean 
Merlin, advancing at a swift pace through the 
meadow path, skirting the old willows; I heard 
him call out : 

““ Marie-Rose !” . 

- She instantly rose and hastened to meet him. 
54 


Brigadier Frederick 


They kissed each other and returned laughing, arm 
‘inarm. I was pleased and said to myself : 

“They love each other dearly. They are good 
children.” 

Old grandmother Anne, who was nearly al- 
Ways shut up in her own room, was looking too, 
leaning out of the little window surrounded with 
ivy, with her eyelids puckered up, her old face 
wrinkled with satisfaction ; she called me: 

“Frederick !” 

“What is it, grandmother ?” 

“J am growing young as at the time of my 
own marriage. It was the year of the comet in 
which they made such good wine before the great 
Russian winter; you have heard them talk of that, 
Frederick ; all our soldiers were frozen.” 

“Yes, grandmother.” 

She liked to recall those old stories, and we 
did not think that we should soon see the same 
things. 

The good people of Phalsbourg, the poorest, 
such as father Maigret, old Paradis, grandfather ' 
Lafougére, all of them old soldiers without any 
means of subsistence but public charity and their 
medal of St. Helena, began to come to look for 
mushrooms in the woods ; they knew all the differ- 
ent kinds from the small to the large Polish mush- 

55 


Brigadier Frederick 


room; they gathered also strawberries and mul- 
berries. The wood strawberries, which are the 
best, sell in the town for two sous a quart, mush- 
rooms for three sous the small basketful. 

The lower meadow, by the river bank, gave 
them also quantities of salad. How many times 
those poor old backs were forced to stoop in order 
to earn a sou / 

And every year we received orders to enforce 
the forest laws more severely, to prevent the poor 
from picking up the dead leaves and beech nuts, 
which was as much as to say to “prevent them 
from living.” 

Things went on this way till the hay-making 
season, when came the great drought; it lasted 
till the end of July, and we feared for the po- 
tatoes. : 

As to the Jplebzsczte, I won’t talk to you about 
that; those things did not worry us foresters 
much. One fine morning we received the order 
to go to the Petite Pierre, and all the brigade, 
after assembling at my house, left together in 
their holiday clothes to vote; yes, as we had been 
ordered to do. Then, stopping at the inn of the 
Three Pigeons, we drank a bumper to the Em- 
peror’s health, after which every one went home 


and never thought of it any more. 
56 


Brigadier Frederick ° 


The people complained of but one thing at 
Graufthal, Ddosenheim, and Echbourg, and that 
was the lack of rain. But in the depths of the 
valleys dry weather was always the most beautiful 
and the richest; we never lacked moisture; the 
grass grew in abundance, and all the birds in Al- 
sace, blackbirds, thrushes, bullfinches, and wood 
pigeons, with their young nestlings, enjoyed them- 
selves with us as if in an aviary. 

It was also the best time one could wish for 
fishing, for when the waters were low all the trout 
ascended to the springs beneath the rocks, where 
one could take them out in one’s hand. 

You may well believe that there was no lack 
of fishermen. Marie-Rose had never before had 
as many omelettes and fried dishes to prepare. 
She superintended everything and answered the 
compliments made to her upon her approaching 
marriage without stopping her work. She looked 
as fresh as a rose; merely looking at her, Jean 
Merlin’s eyes grew moist with tenderness. 

Who would have imagined at that time that 
we were going to have a war with the Prussians? 
What interest had we in that? Beside, did not 
every one say that the s/edisczte had been voted to 
keep peace? Such an idea had never entered our 
heads, when, one July evening, the little Jew, 
Vol. 11—F 57 


Brigadier Frederick 


David, who had been to Désenheim to buy a calf, 
said to me as he passed : 

“You have heard the great news, brigadier ?” 

“No; what is it ?” 

“Well, the Paris newspapers say that the Em- 
peror is about to declare war upon the King of 
Prussia.” 

I could not believe it, because the wood-mer- 
chant Schatner, who had returned a few days be- 
fore from Sarrebriick, had told me that the coun- 
try thereabouts was swarming with troops, cavalry, 
infantry, artillery, and that even the citizens had 
their knapsacks, their guns, and their complete 
outfits, ticketed and numbered, all arranged in 
good order on shelves in large barracks, and that 
at the first sign of the auptmann these people 
would have nothing to do but to dress themselves, 
receive cartridges, get into a railway car, and fall 
upon our backs ex masse. As for us, we had 
nothing at all, either in our towns or our villages, 
so simple good sense made me think that they 
would not declare war on these Germans before 
having put us in a condition to defend our- 
selves. 

So I shrugged my shoulders when the Jew 
told me such an absurd thing, and I said: 

“Do you take the Emperor for a fool ?” 

58 | 


Brigadier Frederick 


But he went off, dragging his calf by the rope, 
and saying : 

“Wait a bit, brigadier; you will see—this 
won't last long.” 

All that he could say on that score came to the 
same thing, and when Jean Merlin came that 
evening, as usual, it never occurred to me to tell 
him about it. 

Unfortunately, eight or ten days later, the 
thing was certain; they were calling in all soldiers 
away on leave of absence. It was even stated 
that the Bavarians had cut the telegraph wires 
in Alsace—that innumerable troops were passing 
Saverne, and that others were encamped at Nie- 
derbronn. 


XI 


ALL at once it was rumoured that there had. 
been fighting near Wissembourg, and that same 
evening the inhabitants of Neu Willer, fleeing 
with their furniture piled on carts to Lutzelstein, 
told us at the very door of the house, without 
daring to come in, that several of our battalions 
had been slaughtered ; that the general of the van- 
guard had been left on the field; that Wissem- 

59 


Brigadier Frederick 


bourg was in flames, and that our troops were 
retiring towards Bitche. 

These people seemed bewildered with terror ; 
instead of continuing on their way to Petite 
Pierre, the idea struck them all at once that it 
was not strongly enough fortified, and in spite 
of the circuit of three leagues that they had 
just made, the whole band, men and women, 
began to climb the Falberg hill to fly to Stras- 
bourg. 

Then desolation reigned among us. Merlin 
and his mother came to our house to talk over the 
bad news. The grandmother lamented. As for 
me, I said there was no need to be cast down 
about it, that the Germans would never dare to 
risk themselves in our forests; that they did not 
know the roads, and other reasons like that, which 
did not prevent me from being very uneasy my- 
self, for all that Captain Rondeau had said to us 
one year before came back to me; the wood-cut- 
ters that he had caused to be arrested at Lutzel- 
stein rose before my eyes; and then I was humili- 
ated to think that the soldiers of Baden and Bava- 
ria had beaten the French at their first encounter. 
I knew that they were ten to one, but that did 
not lessen my grief. 

It was our first bad night. I could not sleep, 

60 


Brigadier Frederick 


and I heard Marie-Rose, in her little side room, 
get up, open the window, and look out. 

All outside was as silent as if nothing had hap- 
pened ; not a leaf was stirring, so calm was the 
air; some crickets were chirping on the ground, 
which was still warm six hours after sunset, and 
along the river the frogs were uttering their long, 
drawn-out cry. 

My inward emotion prevented me from sleep- 
ing. About four o’clock Ragot began to bark 
down-stairs ; some one was knocking at the door, 
I dressed myself, and two minutes after, went 
down to open the door. | 

A man, the younger Klein-Nickel, of Petite 
Pierre, brought me an order from Inspector La- 
roche to come without delay. 

Marie-Rose had come down-stairs. I only 
waited long enough to snatch a morsel, and then 
I left with my gun slung over my shoulder. By 
seven o'clock I was at M. Laroche’s door, and I 
went in. The inspector was seated at his desk 
writing. 

“Ah! it is you, Frederick,” he said, laying 
down his pen, ‘take a seat. We have had some 
pretty bad news; you know that our little body 
of men detached for observation has had a misfor- 
tune?” 

61 


Brigadier Frederick 


“Yes, sir.” 

“They allowed themselves to be surprised,” 
said he; “but that is nothing; it will not occur 
again.” 

He appeared as tranquil as usual, and said that 
in every war there were ups and downs; that a 
first unfortunate engagement did not signify any- 
thing, but that it was always good to take precau- 
tions in view of more serious events impossible to 
foresee ; consequently, that it was necessary to 
tell all the men of my brigade, and those that we 
were employing on the forest roads, to be ready 
to march with their pickaxes, hatchets, and shovels, 
at the first order, because it would perhaps be 
necessary to blow up the rocks and to cut the 
roads by means of ditches and the felling of trees. 

“You understand,” said he, seeing me rather 
uneasy, ‘‘that these things are simply measures of 
forethought, nothing is threatening ; Marshal Mac- 
Mahon is concentrating his troops near Hagenau ; 
everything is in movement; there is nothing im- 
mediate to fear; but the chief thing is to be ready 
in case of need; when everything is ready, we 
will act rapidly and surely. I may receive an 
order from General de Failly to block the roads, 
and in such a case the order must be executed 
within a few hours.” | 

62 


Brigadier Frederick 


“Tt will not take long, sir,” I answered; 
“everywhere the rocks are leaning over the roads ; 
in falling they would take everything with them 
to the bottom of the valley.” 

“Exactly,” said he. ‘But, first, every one 
must be warned. We have no lack of blasting 
powder; if the order arrives, all my colleagues 
having taken the same measures, it will be a day’s: 
journey from Bitche to Dabo; not a cannon, not 
an ammunition wagon can pass from Alsace to 
Lorraine.” 

He said this as he accompanied me to the 
door, and shook hands with me. 

As I was going thoughtfully home, I saw on 
the height of Altenberg some soldiers who were 
planting stockades along the hillside. The great- 
est confusion was reigning in the suburbs, people 
were running from house to house to get news, 
two or three companies of infantry were encamped 
in a potato-field. 

All that day and the next I did nothing but 
carry the orders of the inspector from Frohmiihle 
to Echbourg, from Echbourg to Hangsviller, to 
Graufthal, to Metting, etc., telling each of what. 
he would have to do, the places where we were to 
meet, the rocks which we were to attack. 

.. On the. third day I came home, so worn out 
63 


Brigadier Frederick 


that I could not eat nor even sleep for several 
hours. However, towards morning I fell into a 
heavy sleep, from which I was roused by Marie- 
Rose coming into my room and opening the win- 
dow towards Désenheim. 

‘‘ Listen, father,” said she, in a trembling voice ; 
“listen to that noise. What is it? We hear 
nothing but that in the whole valley.” 

I listened. It was an endless booming that 
filled the mountain, and at times covered the noise 
of the wind in the trees. It did not take me long 
to understand what it meant, and I answered: 

“Tt is cannon. They are fighting seven or 
eight leagues from here, near Woerth. It is a 
great battle.” 

Marie-Rose instantly ran down-stairs, and after 
having dressed myself I followed her into the 
lower room, where the grandmother was also; her 
chin trembled as she looked at me with wide-open 
eyes. 

“Tt is nothing,” I told them; “do not be 
afraid ; whatever happens, the Germans will never 
come this far; we have too many good places to 
defend our passes.” 

But I was very far from feeling very confident 
myself. 

The cannonading grew louder, sometimes like 

64 


Brigadier Frederick 


the distant rolling of a storm; then it died away, 
and we heard nothing more but the rustling of the 
leaves, the barking of Ragot before the door, and 
the quacking of a duck among the willows by the 
river. These voices of the solitude, when one 
thought of what was going on behind the cur- 
tain of the forest, had something strange about 
them. 

I should have liked to climb the rocks to see 
at least what was going on on the other side, in 
the plain; but as the order to commence opera- 
tions might arrive at any minute, I was forced to 
stay where I was. 

This went on till three o’clock in the after- 
noon. 

I walked about, trying to put a brave face on 
the matter, so as not to frighten the women. This 
day, the sixth of August, was very long; even to- 
day, when so many other griefs have overwhelmed 
us, I cannot think of it without a heavy heart. 

The most terrible moment was, when all at 
once the dull sound that we had heard since morn- 
ing ceased. We listened at the garden window, 
but not a breath, not a sound but those from the 
valley reached us. It was only after a few min- 
utes that I said: 

“Tt is over. The battle is ended. Now some 

5 65 


Brigadier Frederick 


are running away and the others are pursuing 
them. God grant that we have conquered.” 

And till night not a soul appeared in the 
neighbourhood. After supper we went to bed 
with heavy hearts. . 


XII 


THE next day was very gloomy ; the sky was 
cloudy, and at length it began to rain, after the 
two months’ drought; the rain fell heavily and 
continuously ; the hours passed slowly away, the 
order to commence operations did not come, and 
I said to myself : 

“That is a good sign! So much the better! 
If we had been defeated the order would have ar- 
rived early this morning.” | 

But we had no news, and about three o'clock, 
losing patience, I said to Marie-Rose and the 
grandmother : 

“See here, I cannot stand this any longer; I 
must go to Petite Pierre to find out what is go- 
ing on.” 

I put on my water-proof cape and went out 
into the pouring rain. On our sandy soil the 
water flows off without soaking into the ground. 
I arrived at Petzte-Prerre, where every one was 

66 


Brigadier Frederick 


then shut up in the cottages, about six o'clock. 
At the point of the fort, high up in air a sentinel 
was on guard outside of his watch-box. 

A few minutes later I entered the office of the 
chief inspector. He was there alone, walking up 
and down with a bowed back and a gloomy air, 
and when I raised my hood he stopped short and 
said to me: | 

“Tt is you, Father Frederick, is it? Have you 
come to hear the news and to get your orders ?” 

“Yes, sir,” I replied. — 

** Well, the news is bad; the battle is lost; we 
are repulsed from Alsace, and one hundred and 
fifty thousand Germans are advancing to enter 
Lorraine.” 

A cold shiver ran down my back, and as he 
said no more I murmured: 

“Everything is ready, sir; there is nothing to 
do but to distribute the powder for the mines and 
to commence felling the trees; we are all ready 
and waiting.” 

Then, smiling bitterly and running his hands 
through his thick brown hair, he cried: 

“Yes, yes, we are all like that. Time presses ; 
the retreat is continuing by Bitche and Saverne, 
the enemy is sending out scouts in all directions, 


and the orders do not come.” 
67 


Brigadier Frederick 


I answered nothing, and then, seating himself, 
he cried : 

“ After all, why should I hide the truth from 
you? General de Failly has sent me word that 
the abattis are useless, and that there is nothing 
for us to do.” 7 

I was as though rooted to the ground and a 
cold trembling shook my limbs. The inspector | 
recommenced his walk with his hands crossed be- 
hind his back under the skirts of his coat, and as 
he paced to and fro, without saying another word, 
I added : 

“ And now, what are we to do, sir ?” 

“Remain at your posts like brave fellows,” 
he said, ‘“I have no other orders to give 
you.” 

Something choked me; he saw that, and, look- 
ing at me with moistened eyes, he held out his 
hand to me, saying : 

“Come, Father Frederick, take courage. After 
all, it is pleasant to be able to say, a hand upon the 
heart, ‘I am a brave man!’ That is our recom- 
pense.” 

And I said, deeply moved : 

“Yes, sir, yes, that is all which remains to us, 
and that will never be lacking.” 

He did me the honour to accompany me down 

68 


Brigadier Frederick 


the walk to the gate, and again pressing my hand, 
he cried : 

“ Courage! courage !” 

Then I set off again, descending the great val- 
ley. The rain covered the pool of the Fromiihle, 
which was quivering all gray among the willows 
and the parched herbage. 

As to telling you about the ideas which 
chased each other through my head, and how 
often I passed my hand over my face to wipe 
away the tears and the rain which were flow- 
ing from it—as to relating to you that, George, 
it is not in my power; that would take a wiser 
man than I; I felt myself no longer, I did not 
know myself, and I repeated to myself in my 
trouble : 

“No orders—it is useless. The general says 
that it is useless to cut down the trees and to 
block up the roads. Then he wants the enemy to 
advance and to come through the passes.” 

And I marched on. 

It was dark night when I reached the house. 
Marie-Rose was waiting for me, seated by the 
table; she observed me with an anxious eye, and 
she seemed to ask, ‘‘ What has happened—what 
orders have we.” 

But I said nothing, and, throwing my cape, all 

69 


Brigadier Frederick 


streaming with rain, on the back of a chair, and 
shaking my cap, I cried : 

“Go to bed, Marie-Rose, we will not be dis- 
turbed to-night ; go and sleep tranquilly ; the gen- 
eral at Bitche does not want us to stir. The bat- 
tle is lost, but we will have another in Alsace, at 
Saverne, or farther off, and the roads are to remain 
open. We have no need to do anything, the roads 
will be well guarded.” 

I do not know what she thought about it, but 
at the end of a minute, seeing that I did not sit 
down, she said : . 

“T have kept your soup near the fire, and it 
is still hot if you would like something to eat, 
father.” - 

“Bah! I am not hungry,” I answered; “let 
us go to bed: it is late, and that is the best thing 
to do.” 

I could no longer restrain myself ; anger was 
gaining upon me. I went out and bolted the 
door, and then taking the lamp I went up-stairs. 
Marie-Rose followed me, and we each went to 
our own room. 

I heard my. daughter go to bed, but I remained 
thinking for a long time, leaning my elbows on the 
table and watching the little yellow light before 
the black panes where the ivy leaves were shivering 

70 


Brigadier Frederick 


in the rain, winking my eyes and saying to my- 
self : 

‘“‘ Frederick, there are, nevertheless, many asses 
in the world, and they do not walk in the rear; 
they march in front and lead the others.” 

At last, as the night advanced towards two 
o'clock, thinking that it was useless to burn oil for 
nothing, I undressed and went to bed, blowing 
out my lamp. 

On that very night of the seventh to the eighth 
of August, the Germans, having reconnoitred to a 
great distance and finding that all the roads were 
free, advanced in a body and took possession of 
the passes, not only of La Zingel but also of La 
Zorn, thus investing Phalsbourg, the bombardment 
of which was begun two days later. 

They passed also into Lorraine by the great tun- 
nel of Homartin, while our army fell back, by forced 
marches, upon Nancy, and finally upon Chalons. 

Thus the two great German armies of Woerth 
and Forbach found themselves united, and all 
others were as if swallowed up, cut off from all 
help and even from all hope. 

You can easily picture to yourself that immense 
army of Prince Frederick; Bavarians, Wurtem- 
burgers, Badeners, cavalry, artillery, infantry, which 
defiled by squadrons and by regiments through our 

71 


Brigadier Frederick 


lovely valley ; that torrent of human beings which 
goes on and on, ever forward, without interruption 
during a whole week, and the cannon which thun- 
ders around the place, and the old rocks of the 
Graufthal which resound with echoes upon echoes, 
and then the smoke of the conflagration which 
arises to Heaven forming a sombre dome above 
our valleys. 


XIII 


AFTER the grand passage of the German army 
and the bombardment of the city, thousands of 
landwehry came to occupy the country. These 
people filled up all the villages and hamlets; here 
one company, there two; further on three or four, 
commanded by Prussian officers. They guarded 
all the roads and paths, they made requisitions of 
all kinds: bread, wheat, flour, hay, straw, cattle, 
nothing came amiss to them; they amused them- 
selves at the corner of the fire, talked of their wives 
and children with an air of tender emotion, pitied 
the fate of their poor brothers of Alsace and Lor- 
raine, and sighed over our misery. But all that 
did not prevent them from eating and drinking 
heartily at our expense, and from stretching them- 
selves out in the old arm-chair of the grandmother 

72 


Brigadier Frederick 


or grandfather, smoking with satisfaction the cigars 
that we were obliged to furnish for them! Yes, 
fine words did not cost them much. This is what 
I have often seen at Graufthal, at Echbourg, Ber- 
linger, Flangeviller, where the desire to learn the 
news made me go from time to time, wearing a 
blouse and carrying a stick. 

From the first days of September their governor- 
general, Bismark Bohlen, came to establish himself 
at Hagenau, declaring that Alsace had always been 
a German province, and that his Majesty the King 
of Prussia was taking possession of his own; that 
Strasbourg, Bitche, Phalsbourg, Nevy Brisach were 
to be considered as cities rebelling against the 
legitimate authority of King William, but that 
they would soon be brought to their senses by the 
new bombshells weighing a hundred and fifty 
pounds. 

This, George, was what they said openly with 
us, and that shows that these Germans took us for 
fools, to whom they could tell the most silly jokes 
without fear of being laughed at. 

Our only consolation was that we lived in the 
midst of the forest, in which these ‘brave people 
did not like to risk themselves; I thanked Heaven 
for it every evening. But scarcely was Bismark 


Bohlen installed than we saw passing every morn- 
Vol. 11—G 73 


Brigadier Frederick 


ing and evening regularly mounted gens-d’armes 
in the valley, with their helmets and their great 
cloaks, with packets of proclamations, which the 
mayors were obliged to post up on the doors of 
their offices and the churches. 

These proclamations promised the kindest of 
treatment to the faithful subjects of King William, 
and threatened with death all those who assisted 
the French, whom they called “‘our enemies!” It 
was forbidden to give them bread or even a glass 
of water in their misfortune, to serve them as 
guides, or to hide them in one’s house ;,one must 
give them up to be an honest man; you were to 
be judged by a council of war in case of disobedi- 
ence, and the smallest penalty for such an offence 
was twenty years of the galleys and thirty-seven 
thousand francs fine. 

By such means Bismark Bohlen could dispense 
with all other explanations touching the races, the 
German fatherland, and the rights of his Majesty. 

Picture to yourself now our solitude, the fear 
of marauders, whom we could not have dared to — 
repulse, because they would have presented them- 
selves in the name of the king. Fortunately that 
kind of people are not very courageous; it was 
rumoured that sharp-shooters, and even soldiers 
escaped from Woerth, were prowling round in the 

74 


Brigadier Frederick 


neighbourhood, and that preserved us from visits 
from that good race which wished us so much 
good. 

It was also said that the members of the forest 
guard would be kept, that the salary of the old 
guards would even be augmented, and that several 
would obtain promotion. 

You can understand my indignation when I 
heard such things said; I had not forgotten the 
advice of our good Chief Inspector; I reminded 
our men of it at every opportunity : 

“We must stay at our posts! Perhaps the luck 
will not always be against us. Let every one do 
his duty till the end. I have no other orders to 
give you.” 

He observed this order himself, staying at Petite 
Pierre and continuing to fulfil the duties of his 
office. 

Strasbourg was defending itself; there was 
fighting going on round Metz, From time to 
time I sent Merlin to get the orders from our 
superiors, and the answer was always: ‘ Nothing 
is hopeless. We may be called upon at any min- 
ute, Let every one stay where he is!” 

We waited then, and the autumn, always so 
beautiful in our mountains, with its russet leaves, 
its silent forests, where the song of birds was no 

75 


Brigadier Frederick 


longer heard; its meadows newly mown and 
smooth as a carpet as far as the eye could reach; 
the river covered with gladiols and dead leaves, 
this great spectacle so calm at all times, was still 
grander and sadder than ever in the midst of the 
terrible events through which we were passing. 

How often then, listening to the endless mur- 
mur of the forest, over which was passing the first 
cold shiver of the winter, how often have I said to 
myself : 

“While you are looking, Frederick, at those 
old woods wherein everything is sleeping, what is 
happening down yonder in Champagne? What 
has become of that immense army, the cavalry, the 
infantry, the cannons, all those thousands of beings 
going eagerly to destruction for the glory and in- 
terest of a few? Shall we see them driven back in 
disorder? Will they remain lying amid the mists 
of the Meuse, or will they return to place their 
heel upon our necks?” 

I imagined great battles. The grandmother 
also was very uneasy; she sat by the window and 
said: 

‘Listen, Frederick, do you hear nothing ?” 

And I listened; it was only the wind among ~ 
the dry leaves. 

Sometimes, but rarely, the city seemed to 

76 


Brigadier Frederick 


awake ; so a few cannon shots thundered amid the 
echoes from Quatre Vents to Mittelbroun and 
then all was silent again. The idea of Metz sus- 
tained us; it was from there, above all, that we 
hoped to obtain succour. 

I have nothing more to tell you about this 
autumn of 1870; no news, no visits, and towards 
the last but little hope. 

But I must tell you now about a thing that 
surprised us a good deal, that we could not under- 
stand, and which unhappily has now become too 
clear for us, like many other things. 


XIV 


Asout two weeks after the establishment of 
Bismark Bohlen at Hagenau, we saw arrive one 
morning in the valley a vehicle similar to those 
used by the Germans who were starting for Amer- 
ica before the invention of railroads—a long wagon, 
loaded with hundreds of old traps, straw beds, bed- 
steads, frying-pans, lanterns, etc., with a muddy 
dog and an unkempt wife and a horde of scabby 
children, and the master himself leading his sorry 
jade by the bridle. 

We looked at them in amazement, thinking, 

77 


Brigadier Frederick 


‘What does all this mean? What are these peo- 
ple coming to do among us?” 

Under the cover near the pole the woman, 
already old, yellow, <ad wrinkled, her cap put on 
awry, was picking the heads of the children, who 
were swarming in the straw, boys and girls, all 
light-haired and chubby and pussy, as potato-eaters 
always are. 

“Wilhelm, will you be quiet?” she said. 
“Wait till I take a look—wait, I see something. 
Good, I have it; you can tumble about now. 
Wilhelmina, come put your head upon my knees; 
each must take their turn; you can look at the 
pine trees later.” 

And the father, a big man, in a bottle-green 
coat, that had a thousand wrinkles in the back; 
his cheeks hanging, his little nose adorned with 
a pair of spectacles, his pantaloons tucked into 
his boots, and a big porcelain pipe in his mouth, 
pulled on his miserable horse by the bridle and 
said to his wife : 

‘‘ Herminia, look at those forests, those mead- 
ows, this rich Alsace. We are in the terrestrial 
paradise.” 

It was a group resembling the gipsies, and, as 
Merlin came to see us that day, we talked of noth- 
ing but that the whole evening. 

78 


Brigadier Frederick 


But we were destined to see many more of 
them, for these strangers, in old cadvzolets, basket 
wagons, chars-a-banc, and two or four wheeled car- 
riages, put into requisition along the road, con- 
tinued to pass for a long time. From the first of 
them, the remembrance of whom has remained in 
my mind, the train was never ending ; there passed 
daily three, four, or five vehicles, loaded with chil- 
dren, old men, young women, and young girls— 
the last gotten up in an odd style, with dresses 
which, it seemed to me, I remembered having seen 
some fifteen or twenty years before upon the ladies 
of Saverne, and with wide hats, trimmed with 
paper roses, set : pon their plaits, just three hairs 
thick, like the gueues of our grandfathers. 

These people talked all kinds of German and 
were hard to understand. They had also all kinds 
of faces: some broad and fat, with venerable 
beards; others sharp as a knife-blade, and with 
their old overcoats buttoned to the throat, to hide 
their shirts; some with light gray eyes and stiff, 
shaggy, red whiskers; others little, round, lively, 
going, running, and wriggling about; but all, at 
the sight of our beautiful valley, uttering cries of 
admiration and lifting up their hands, men, women, 
and children, as we are told the Jews did on enter- 
ing into the Promised Land. 

79 


Brigadier Frederick 


Thus came these people from all parts of Ger- 
many ; they had taken the railroads to our frontiers, 
but all our lines being then occupied by their 
troops and their provision and ammunition trains 
starting from Wissembourg or from Soreltz, they 
were forced to travel in wagons, after the Alsatian 
fashion. 

Sometimes one and sometimes another would 
ask us the way to Saverne, Metting, or Lutzel- 
stein; they got down at the spring below the 
bridge and drank from one of their pans or from 
the hollow of their hands. 

Every day these passages were repeated, and I 
cudgelled my brain to find out what these foreign- 
ers were coming to do among us at so troubled a 
time, when provisions were so scarce and when we 
did not know to-day what we should have to eat 
the morrow. They never said a word, but went 
upon their way, under the protection of the /ana- 
wehr which filled the country. We have since 
learned that they shared in the requisitions—a fact 
which permitted them to save money and even to 
get themselves into good condition on the road. 

George, all these Bohemians of a new species, 
whose miserable air filled our hearts with pity, even 
in the midst of our troubles, were the functionaries 
which Germany sent to be our administrators and 

80 


Brigadier Frederick 


our rulers, preceptors, controllers, notaries, school- 
masters, foresters, etc. They were persons who, 
from the months of September and October, long . 
before the treaty of peace was signed, arrived tran- 
quilly to take the place of our own people, saying 
to them, without ceremony, ‘‘ Get out of there, so 
that I may get in.” 

One would have said that it was all agreed 
upon beforehand, for it happened so even before 
the capitulation of Strasburg. 

How many poor devils, beer barrels or schnaps 
drinkers, who had been whipping the devil around 
the stump for years and years in all the little cities 
of Pomerania, of Brandenburg, and further still, 
who never would have become anything at home, 
and who did not know from whom to ask for 
credit at home for rye bread and potatoes—how 
many such men fell then upon rich Alsace, that 
terrestrial paradise, promised to the Germans by 
their kings, their professors, and their school- 
masters ! 

At the time of which I speak they were still 
modest, notwithstanding the wonderful victories 
of their armies; they were not yet sure of pre- 
serving that extraordinary good-fortune to the end, 
and, comparing their old tattered coats and their 
miserable appearance with the easy fortune of the 

6 81 


Brigadier Frederick 


least of the functionaries of Alsace and of Lor- 
raine, they doubtless said to themselves : 

“Tt cannot be possible that the Lord should 
have chosen scamps like us to fill such good places. 
What extraordinary merit have we, then, to play 
first fiddle in a country such as this, which the 
French have occupied for two hundred years, 
which they have cultivated, planted, and enriched 
with workshops and factories and improvements 
of all kinds? Provided that they do not return 
to retake it, and to force us to return to our 
schnaps and our potatoes.” 

Yes, George, with a little common sense and 
justice, these intruders must have reasoned thus 
to themselves ; a sort of uneasiness could be recog- 
nised in their eyes and in their smile. But once 
Strasburg was taken and Metz given up, and they 
comfortably installed in large and fine houses, 
which they had not built, sleeping in the good 
beds of prefects, under-prefects, judges, and other 
personages, of whom they had never even had 
an idea; after having imposed taxes upon the 
good lands which they had not sowed, and laid 
hands upon the registers of all the administrations, 
which they had not established, seeing the money, 
the good money of rich Alsace, flowing into their 
coffers—then, George, they believed themselves 

82 


Brigadier Frederick 


to be really presidents of something, inspectors, 
controllers, receivers, and the German pride, which 
they know so well how to hide with cringing when 
they are not the stronger—that brutal pride puffed 
out their cheeks. 

There always remained to them during the time 
that I was still down yonder an old remembrance 
of the Lorempé Strasse and of the Speingler Volk, 
where they had formerly lived. That remembrance 
made them very economical; two of them would 
order a mug of beer and pay for it between them ; 
they disputed about farthings with the shoemaker 
and the tailor; they found something to find fault 
with in every bill, crying out that we wanted to 
cheat them; and the poorest cobbler among us 
would have been ashamed to display the meanness 
of these new functionaries, who promised us so 
many benefits in the name of the German fath- 
erland, and who showed us so much avarice and 
even abominable meanness. But that only showed 
us with what race we had now to do. 


83 


Brigadier Frederick 


XV 


One day, towards the end of October, one of 
the gens-d’armes of Bismark Bohlen, who passed 
every morning through the valley, halted at the 
door of the forest house, calling : 

“ Hillo, somebody!” I went out. 

“You are the Brigadier Frederick ?” asked the 
man. 

“Yes,” I answered, ‘my name is Frederick, 
and I am a brigadier forester.” 

“ All right,” said he, holding out a letter; ‘‘ here 
is something for you.” 

Then he trotted off to join his comrade, who 
was waiting for him a little farther on. I entered 
the house. Marie-Rose and the grandmother were 
uneasy ; they looked on in silence as I opened the 
letter, saying : 

‘““What can those Prussians want with me?” 

It was an order from the Oberférster,* estab- 
lished at Zornstadt, to be at his house the next 
day, with all the foresters of my brigade. I read 
the letter aloud and the women were frightened. 

“What are you going to do, father?” asked 
Marie-Rose, after a pause. 

“That is what I am thinking about,” I an-. 





* Chief Inspector of the forest. 
84 


Brigadier Frederick 


swered ; “‘these Germans have no right to give me 
orders, but they are now the strongest ; they may 
turn us out of doors any day. I must think it 
over.” 

I was walking up and down the room, feeling 
very much worried, when all at once Jean Merlin 
passed rapidly before the windows, ascended the 
steps and entered. 

“Good morning, Marie-Rose,” said he, “ good 
morning, grandmother. You have received the 
order from the Oberférster, brigadier ?” 

ces,” 

“Ah!” said he, “those people have no con- 
fidence in us; all the foresters have received the 
same thing. Shall we go?” 

“We must see about it,” I said; “you must 
go to Petite Pierre and ask the advice of our in- 
spector.” 

The clock was striking eight. Jean started at 
once; at twelve o'clock he had already returned 
to tell us that M. Laroche wished us to see what 
the Germans wanted with us, and to send him an 
account of it as soon as possible. So it was re- 
solved that we should go. 

You must know, George, that since the arrival 
of the Germans the forests were robbed by whole- 
sale; all the wood still in cords and piled in the 

85 


Brigadier Frederick 


clearings, vanished, fagot by fagot: the dandwehr 
carried off all that was within their reach ; they liked 
to sit by a good fire in their earthworks before the 
city. The peasants, too, helped themselves liber- 
ally, one might almost say that the property of the 
State belonged to the first-comer. 

I told my guards without ceasing to watch the 
culprits closely, that the wood still belonged to 
France, and that after the war they would have to 
account for it.. My district suffered less than the 
others, because I continued to make my rounds as 
heretofore ; people always respect those who do 
their duty. 

So I sent Jean to tell his comrades to meet 
without fail the next day at the forest house, wear- 
ing their uniform, but without badges, and that we 
would go together to Zornstadt. 

The next day, when all had assembled, we took 
up the line of march, and about one o'clock we 
arrived in the vestibule of the great house, wherein 
the Oberférster had installed himself and all his 
family. It was a great holiday at Zornstadt for 
the Prussians. They had just heard of the capitu- 
lation of Bazaine, and they were singing in all the 
public houses. The Oberférster was giving a ban- 
quet. Naturally this ill news made our hearts 
very heavy. The other brigades had already met 

86 


Brigadier Frederick 


at the door, headed by the brigadiers, Charles 
Werner, Jacob Hepp, and Balthazar Redig. 

After having shaken hands, it was decided 
that we should listen to the remarks of the Ober- 
férster in silence, and that I, as the oldest briga- 
dier, should speak for all if there was anything to 
reply. We still waited for over half an hour, as 
the banquet was not yet over; they were laughing 
and joking, playing the piano and singing “ Die 
Wacht am Rhein.” In spite of their immense 
vanity, these people had not expected such great 
victories, and I think that if we had had other 
generals, that, in spite of their preparations and 
their superiority in numbers, they would not have 
had the opportunity to be so merry at our ex- 
pense. 

At last, about two o’clock, a German in a green 
felt hat, adorned with two or three cock feathers, 
with a joyous air, and cheeks scarlet to the ears, 
for he had just left the kitchen, came and opened 
the door, saying : 

“You may come in.” 

After traversing a long room, we found the 
Oberfirster alone, seated in an arm-chair at the 
end of a long table, still covered with dessert and 
bottles of all kinds, with a red face, and his hands 
crossed upon his stomach with an air of satisfac- 

87 


Brigadier Frederick 


tion. He was a handsome man in his jacket of 
green cloth edged with marten fur—yes, George, 
I will confess it, a very handsome man, tall, well- 
made, a square head, short hair, solid jaws, long 
red mustaches and side whiskers, that, so to 
speak, covered his shoulders. Only his large red 
nose, covered with flowery splotches, astonished 
you at first sight, and forced you to turn away 
your eyes out of respect for his rank. He looked 
at us as we entered, his little gray eyes screwed 
up ; and when we had all gathered round the table, 
cap in hand, after having scrutinized us carefully, 
he settled his waistcoat, coughed a little, and said 
to us, with an air of deep emotion: 

“You are good people. You have all honest 
German faces; that pleases me! Your get-up is 
very good also; I am satisfied with you!” 

In the side room the guests were laughing ; 
this forced the Oberfédrster to interrupt himself : 

“Wilhelm, shut the door!” said he to the 
servant who had let us in. The waiter obeyed, 
and the Oberférster continued : 

“Yes, you have good German faces! When 
I think that you have been kept for so many years 
in the service of that race of boasters, it makes me 
angry. But, thanks to the Almighty, and thanks 
also to the armies of our glorious King William, 

88 


Brigadier Frederick 


the hour of deliver-nce has arrived, the reign of 
Sodom and Gomorrah i3 over. We will no longer 
see honest fathers of families doing their duty with 
loyalty and exactness, and preserving the property 
of his Majesty ; we will no longer see such people 
living on asalary f five or six hundred francs, while 
adventurers, law-breakers. gamblers, people swal- 
lowed up in vice, award themselves forty millions 
a year to support dancing girls, cooks, and toadies, 
and to declare war at random upon pacific neigh- 
bours, without reason, without foresight, without 
armies, without ammunition, and without cannon, 
like real idiots! No, that will never be seen 
again ; old Germany is opposed to it!” 

Then the Oberforster, satisfied with what he 
had just said, filled his glass in order to refresh his 
ideas; he drank solemnly, with half-closed eyes, 
and continued : 

“‘] have sent for you to confirm you in all your 
situations ; for I visited the forests, I saw that all 
was in order; I saw that you were faithful serv- 
ants; it is but just that you should remain. And 
I announce to you that your salaries are to be 
doubled ; that old servants, instead of being put 
on the retired list, shall receive promotion ; that 
they shall enjoy an honest competency proportion- 


ate to their rank ; finally, that the munificence of 
Vol. 11—H 89 


Brigadier Frederick 


his Majesty will extend itself to you all, and in 
your old age you will bless the happy annexation 
of this noble land, Alsace, to the mother country. 
You will relate some day to your children and 
grandchildren the story of this long captivity in 
Babylon, during which you suffered so much, and 
you will also become the most faithful subjects of 
his Most Gracious Majesty, the King of Prussia. 
This is what I wish! Old functionaries like you, 
honoured and respected in the country because of 
the faithfulness of their services, exercise always a 
great influence over the peasantry. You will ex- 
press loudly your attachment to our glorious King 
William, that hearty attachment which every Ger- 
man feels. Yes, you will take the oath of allegi- 
ance to his Majesty ; and as to the rest, as to the 
augmentation of your salary, I give you my word 
as an Oberférster that all will be done according 
to the promises I have just made you.” 

While he was talking he did not cease to watch 
us; behind us were two or three tall Germans in 
uniform, who appeared dazzled and touched by his 
discourse. But as for us we remained cold, cap in 
hand ; and as I was to be the spokesman they all 
looked at me to see what I thought. 

You can imagine, George, my silent indigna- 
tion to see that they called us good servants, hon- 

go 


Brigadier Frederick 


est people in order to make traitors of us. I felt 
my cheeks getting red; I would have liked to be 
able to answer that only rascals would have ac- 
cepted h- title of h nest men, by forfeiting their 
honour; but I held my tongue, not wishing to 
‘answer for my comrades, several of whom had 
large families ; the responsibility seemed too great. 

The Oberférster having ended, he looked at 
us fixedly ; at me in particular, and he said : 

“Well! you may speak; I authorize you to 
speak.” 

Then I answered : 

“Sir, as the oldest forester of the three bri- 
gades, my comrades have requested me to speak 
for them all; but the proposition that you have 
just made is serious; I think that every one will 
ask for time to think it over.” 

They all nodded assent; and he, who was 
really astonished, for he had doubtless thought 
that the augmentation of the salaries would decide 
everything, remained for over a minute with his 
eyes wide open, staring at me as if I were some- 
thing extraordinary ; then he did as much for the 
others, and, frowning, he said gruffly : 

“JT give you twenty-four hours! To-morrow 
at this time I want to have your written reply, 
signed by each of you; yesorno! Do not think 

gI 


Brigadier Frederick 


that there is any lack of men, there are plenty in 
Germany, good people, old foresters, who know 
the service as well as the smartest of you, who 
would ask nothing better than to come into this 
rich Alsace, where everything grows so abun- 
dantly, to live in comfortable houses in the midst 
of magnificent forests, having nothing to do but 
to take a little turn in the neighbourhood morn- 
ing and evening, to draw up a report, and to re- 
ceive for that twelve or fifteen hundred francs a 
year, with the garden, the strip of meadow, the 
pasture for the cow, and all the rest of it. No, 
do not think that! Hundreds are waiting impa- 
tiently till we tell them to come. And weigh 
well your answer; think of your wives and your 
children ; beware of having to repent bitterly if 
you say no! France is completely ruined, she is 
penniless ; the wretched forests that are left her 
in Brittany and the Landes are nothing but 
broom-sticks ; the guards of these thickets will 
retain their places, and you will never get other 
situations. You are Germans. The French used 
you and despised you; they called you block- 
heads! Think over all this; it is the advice of 
an honest man that I give you, of a German 
brother and the father of a family !” 

He looked at me, thinking that I was. going 

92 


Brigadier Frederick 


to say something; but I compressed my lips, and 
I felt as if little puffs of cold wind were passing 
over my forehead. All my companions were also 
silent. At one side behind the door some one 
was playing on the piano, and a woman was sing- 
ing a sweet and melancholy little song. 

“Twenty-four hours,” he repeated, rising; 
“not another minute.” And, throwing his nap- 
kin on the table angrily, he added : 

* Remember, too, that those who wish to an- 
swer mo can pack up at once; the highway is open 
to them. We will never keep enemies among us 
—dangerous persons—that would be too stupid. 
We are not Frenchmen.” 

So he entered the next room, while we went 
out by the vestibule. 

What the Oberfdrster had said to us, “that 
we would have a hard time getting situations in 
France, and that the Germans would force us to 
be off without mercy,” was terrible; the most 
courageous hung their heads. 

Some of them, very pale, were thinking of 
going to the Fir Tree Inn to deliberate; they 
wanted, above all, to know my opinion; but I 
said, stopping before the door of the inn: 

“From this time, comrades, let us economize 
all the little money that we have; five sous for a 

93 


Brigadier Frederick 


glass of wine is always five sous. We shall prob- 
ably have to break up housekeeping, and at these 
unhappy times everything is dear ; travelling costs 
money when we take women, children, and old 
men with us.” 

Big Kern insisted upon knowing what I 
thought; several of them gathered around me, 
so I finally said : 

“See here, for what concerns myself I know 
what I ought to do; but at such a moment as 
this every one should be free to follow his own 
conscience ; I shall give no advice to any one.” 

And seeing poor Jacob Hepp, the father of 
six small children, standing with drooping head, 
hanging arms, and cast-down eyes, I said: 

“Come! Let us shake hands all round once 
more—for the last time, perhaps! May the old 
recollections of friendship follow us wherever 
Heaven may conduct us.” 

Several of us kissed each other, and at that 
place we parted. 


XVI 


Jean Merttn and I took the road to Felsberg 
alone ; I do not know what the others did, wheth- 
er they entered the inn or returned to their homes. 

94 


Brigadier Frederick 


As for us, so many ideas were passing through 
our heads that we walked on for a long while 
without saying a word. 

On leaving Zornstadt, we ascended the hill of 
Bruyéres till we reached the plateau of Graufthal, 
and suddenly the sun pierced the clouds and 
shone upon the woods. The sun was very bril- 
liant, and showed us through the leafless trees in 
the depths of the valley the pretty cottage in 
which I had passed so many happy days since 
Father Burat had given me his daughter in mar- 
riage. 

I stopped short. Jean, who was following me 
along the path, also halted; and, leaning on our 
sticks, we looked for a long time as if in a dream. 
All the by-gone days seemed to pass before my 
“eyes. 

The little cottage, on this clear, cold day, 
looked as if it were painted on the hillside, in the 
midst of the tall fir trees; its roof of gray shin- 
gles, its chimney, from which curled a little 
smoke, its windows, where in summer Marie-Rose 
placed her pots of pinks and mignonette, the 
trellis, over which climbed the ivy, the shed and 
its worm-eaten pillars—all were there before me, 
one might have thought it possible to touch them. 

When I saw that I said to myself : 

95 


Brigadier Frederick 


“ Look, Frederick, look at this quiet corner of 
the world, wherein thy youth has passed, and 
from which thou must go away gray-headed, with- 
out knowing where to turn; that humble dwell- 
ing wherein thy dear wife Catherine gave thee 
several children, some of whom lie beside her in 
the earth at Dodsenheim. Look! and remember 
how calmly thy life has glided away in the midst 
of worthy people who called thee good son, kind 
father, and honest man, and prayed God to load 
thee with blessings. What good does it do thee 
now to have been a good father and a dutiful son, 
to have always done thy duty honestly, since they 
drive thee away, and not a soul can intercede for 
thee? The Germans are the strongest, and 
strength is worth more than the right established 
by God himself.” 

I trembled at having dared to raise my re- 
proaches to the Almighty, but my grief was too 
deep, and the iniquity appeared to me to be too 
great. May Heaven forgive me for having 
doubted.of His goodness. 

As to the rest my resolution was taken; I 
would rather a thousand times have died than 
have committed so base an action. And, looking 
at Merlin, who was leaning gloomily against a 
birch tree near me, I said: 


96 


Brigadier Frederick 


“T am looking at my old abode for the last 
time ; to-morrow the Oberférster will receive my 
answer, and day after to-morrow the furniture will 
be piled upon the cart. Tell me now what do 
you mean to do?” 3 

Then he flushed scarlet and said: ‘Oh! Fa- 
ther Frederick, can you ask me that? You pain 
me by doing so. Do you not know what I will 
do? I will do like you; there are not two ways 
of being an honest man.” 

“That is right—I knew it,” I said; “but I 
am very glad to have heard you say so. Every- 
thing must be clear between us. We are not like 
Germans, who chase the devil round the stump, 
and think that everything is right, provided it 
succeeds. Come, let us walk on, Jean, and keep 
up your courage.” 


XVII 


WE began to descend the hill, and I confess 
to you, George, that when I approached the house 
and thought of how I should have to announce 
the terrible news to my daughter and the grand- 
mother, my legs trembled under me. 

At last we reached the threshold. Jean en- 


: 97 


Brigadier Frederick 


tered first; I followed him and closed the door. 
It was about four o’clock. Marie-Rose was peel- 
ing potatoes for supper, and the grandmother, 
seated in her arm-chair by the stove, was listening, 
to the crackling of the fire, as she had done for 
years past. 

Imagine our position. How could we man- 
age to tell them that the Germans were going to 
turn us out of doors? But the poor women had 
only to look at us to understand that something 
very serious had happened. 

After having put my stick in the corner by the 
clock, and hung my cap on the nail, I walked up 
and down the room several times; then, as I had 
to commence somehow, I began to relate in detail 
the propositions that the Oberférster had made 
to us to enter the service of the King of Prus- 
sia. I did not hurry myself; I told everything 
clearly, without adding or suppressing anything, 
wishing that the poor creatures might also have 
the liberty of choosing between poverty and shame. 

I was sure that they would choose poverty. 
Marie-Rose, deadly pale, lifted her hands to Heaven, 
murmuring : 

“My God! is it possible? Do such rascals 
exist in the world? Ah! I would rather die than 
join such a company of wretches !” 


98 


Brigadier F rederick 


It pleased me to see that my daughter had a 
brave heart, and Jean Merlin was so touched that 
I saw his lip quiver. 

The grandmother seemed to wake up like a 
snail in its shell; her chin trembled, her dull eyes 
sparkled with anger; I was surprised at it myself. 
And when I went on to say that the Oberférster, 
if we refused to serve Prussia, gave us twenty-four 
hours to leave our home, her indignation burst 
forth all at once. 

“To quit the house ?” said she, lifting her bent 
form, ‘‘but this house is mine! I was born in 
this house more than eighty years ago, and I have 
never left it. It was my grandfather, Laurent 
Duchéne, who first lived here, more than. a hun- 
dred and thirty years ago, and who planted the fruit 
trees on the hill; it was my father, Jacquemin, 
who first marked out the road to Désenheim and 
the paths of Témenthal; it was my husband, 
George Burat, and my son-in-law Frederick here, 
who sowed the first seeds of the beech trees and 
firs, whose forests now extend over the two valleys; 
and all of us, from father to son, we have lived 
quietly in this house ; we have earned it ; we have 
surrounded the garden with hedges and palisades ; 
every tree in the orchard belongs to us; we saved 
up money to buy the meadows, to build the barn 

99 


Brigadier Frederick 


and the stables. Drive us away from this house? 
Ah! the wretches! Those are German ideas! 
Well, let them come! I, Anne Burat, will have 
something to say to them !” 

I could not calm the poor old grandmother ; 
all that she said was just; but with people who 
believe that strength is everything, and that shame 
and injustice are nothing, what is the use of talk- 
ing so much ? 

When she sat down again, all out of breath, I 
asked her, in a very sad but firm voice: 

‘‘Grandmother, do you wish me to accept serv- 
ice with the Germans ?” 

“No!” said she. 

“Then within forty-eight hours we must all 
leave together this old house.” 


“ Never!” she cried. “I will not!” 
“ And I tell you it must be,” said I, with an 
aching heart. ‘I w2// have it so.” 


“ Ah!” she cried, with painful surprise. 

And I continued, with anguish : 

“ You know, grandmother, that I have always 
had the greatest respect for you. May those Ger- 
mans be a thousand times accursed for having 
forced me to be disrespectful to you; I hate them 
still more for it, if possible! But do you not un- 
derstand, grandmother, that those brutes are with- 

100 


Brigadier Frederick 


out shame, without honour, without pity even for 
old age, and if they encountered the slightest resist- 
ance they would drag you out by your gray hair? 
You are weak and they are strong, and that is 
enough for them! Do you not understand that if 
I saw such a spectacle I would throw myself upon 
them, even if they were a regiment, and that they 
would kill me? Then what would become of you 
and my daughter? That is what we must think 
of, grandmother. Forgive me for having spoken 
so harshly to you, but I do not wish for a minute’s 
grace, nor, I am sure, do you; beside, they would 
not let us have it, for they are pitiless people!” 

She burst into tears and sobbed out : 

“Oh! my God! my God! to have to leave 
this house, where I hoped to see my grand-daugh- 
ter happy and to nurse my great-grandchildren ! 
My God! why did you not call me away sooner ?” 

She wept so bitterly that it touched our hearts, 
and all of us, with bowed heads, felt the tears 
trickle down our cheeks. How many recollec- 
tions came to us all! But the poor grandmother 
had more than any of us, having never quitted the 
valley for so many years, except to go two or three 
times a year to market at Saverne or Phalsbourg ; 
those were her longest journeys. 


Io! 


Brigadier Frederick 


XVIII 


At last the blow was struck. Cruel necessity, 
George, had spoken by my lips; the women had 
understood that we must go away, perhaps never 
to return ; that nothing could prevent this fearful 
misfortune. 

That was done; but another duty, still more 
painful, remained to fulfil, When the lamenta- 
tions had ceased, and we were meditating, mute 
and overwhelmed, raising up my voice anew, I 
said : 

“Jean Merlin, you asked me last summer for 
my daughter in marriage, and I accepted you to ~ 
be my son, because I knew you, I liked you, and 
I esteemed you as much as the greatest man in 
the country. So it was settled ; our promises had 
been given, we wanted nothing more! But then 
I was a brigadier forester, I was about to receive 
my pension, and my post was promised to you. 
Without being rich, I had a little property ; my 
daughter might be considered a good match. Now 
I am nobody any more; to tell the truth, I am 
even a poor man. The old furniture I possess 
suits this house; if it were taken with us it would 
be in the way ; the meadow, for which I paid fif- 


teen hundred francs from my savings, also because 
102 


Brigadier Frederick 


it was convenient to the forest house, will be worth 
little more than half when it has to be sold over 
again. Beside, perhaps the Germans will declare 
that all real estate belongs to them. It depends 
only upon themselves, since the strongest are al- 
ways in the right! You, too, will find yourself 
without a situation; you will be obliged to sup- 
port your old mother. The maintenance of a wife 
in the midst of all this poverty may appear very 
troublesome. Therefore, Jean, my honour and 
that of my daughter oblige me to release you from 
your promise. Things are no longer as they were; 
Marie-Rose has nothing, and I can understand that 
an honest man, on such a grave situation, might 
change his mind.” 

Merlin turned pale as he listened to me, and 
he answered, in a gruff voice: 

“JT asked for Marie-Rose for her own sake, 
Father Frederick, because I loved her, and she 
also loved me. I did not ask for her for the sake 
of your place, nor yet for the sake of the money 
she might have ; if I had thought of such a thing, 
I would have been a scoundrel. And now I love 
her more than ever, for I have seen that she has a 
noble heart, which is above everything.” 

And, rising and opening his arms, he cried: 
“ Marie-Rose !” 

103 


Brigadier Frederick 


Scarcely had he called her, when she turned, 
her face bathed in tears, and threw herself into his 
arms. ‘They remained clasped in a close embrace 
for some time, and I thought to myself : 

“ All is well; my daughter is in the hands of 
an honest man; that is my greatest consolation in 
the midst of all my misfortunes.” _ | 

After that, George, in spite of our grief, we 
grew calm again. Merlin and I agreed that he 
would go the next day to carry our answer to 
Zornstadt: “No, Oberférster, we will not enter 
the service of the King of Prussia!” I wrote my 
letter at once and he put it in his pocket. 

It was also agreed that I should go early to 
Graufthal, and try to find lodgings for ourselves, 
wherein we could place our furniture. The three 
first-floor rooms belonging to Father Ykel, the 
host of the Cup Inn, had been empty ever since 
the invasion, as not a traveller came to the coun- 
try. There must certainly be room in his stable, 
too; so I hoped to hire them cheap. 

As to Merlin, he had still to tell his mother, 
and he said to us that she would go to Felsberg, 
where Uncle Daniel would be very glad to receive 
her. The old schoolmaster and his sister had kept 
house together for a long time, and it was only 
after Jean Merlin’s installation in the forester’s 

104 


Brigadier Frederick 


house at Témenthal that he had taken his mother 
to live with him. Good old Margredel had noth- 
ing to do but to return to the village, where her 
little house was waiting for her. So our final reso- 
lutions were taken. 

Jean also took upon himself to go and tell M. 
Laroche of what had occurred, and to say also that 
I would come and see him after our flitting. Then 
he kissed Marie-Rose, said a few encouraging 
words to the grandmother, and went out. I went 
with him as far as the threshold and shook hands. 
The night had come; it was freezing cold; every 
blade of grass in the valley was sparkling with 
frost, and the sky was glittering with stars. What 
weather in which to leave our home and to seek 
another shelter ! 

As I returned to the room, I saw poor Calas 
empty the saucepan of potatoes on the table and 
place the two pots of clotted milk beside the salad- 
bowl, looking at us with an amazed air; no one 
stirred. 

“Sit down, Calas,” I said; ‘eat alone; none 
of us are hungry this evening.” 

So he sat down and began to peel his potatoes ; 
having cleaned out the stable and given forage to 
the cattle, he had done his duty and his conscience 


was easy. 
Vol. 11—I 105 


Brigadier Frederick 


Happy are those who cannot see the morrow, 
and whom the Almighty only governs, without 
kings, without emperors, and without ministers. 
They have not one-quarter of our sorrows. The 
squirrel, the hare, the fox, all the animals of the 
woods and the plains, receive their new fur at the 
beginning of winter; the birds of the air receive 
finer down; those who cannot live in the snow, 
for lack of insects to feed them, have strong wings, 
that enable them to seek a warmer climate. 

It is only man who receives nothing! Neither 
his labour, nor his foresight, nor his courage can 
preserve him from misfortune; his fellow beings 
are often his worst enemies and his old age is often 
the extreme of misery. Such is our share of ex- 
istence. 

Some people would like to change these things, 
but no one has the courage and the good sense 
which are necessary. 

Finally, at nightfall we separated, to think 
over, each alone in his corner, the terrible blow 
that had overwhelmed us. 


106 


Brigadier Frederick 


XIX 


On the following day, which was the first of 
November, at dawn, I set out for Graufthal. I 
had put on my blouse, my thick shoes, and my felt 
hat. The trees along the roadside were bending 
under their covering of frost ; occasionally a black- 
bird or a thrush would rise from under the white 
brushwood, uttering its cry, as if to bid me fare- 
well. I have often thought of it since; I was on 
the path of exile, George ; it was one beginning, 
and extended very far. 

Towards seven o'clock I arrived under the large 
rocks, where the most wretched huts in the village 
were situated—the others were built along the 
banks of the river—and I stopped before that of 
Father Ykel. I went through the kitchen into 
the smoky little parlour of the inn. Nothing was 
stirring ; I thought I was alone and I was about 
to call, when I saw Ykel, sitting behind the stove, 
his short black pipe, with a copper cover, between 
his teeth, and his cotton cap pushed over one ear; 
he did not move, as he had had, a few weeks be- 
fore, an attack of rheumatism, brought on by his 
long fishing excursions among the mountain 
streams, and also at night by torchlight, amid the 
mists. 

107 


Brigadier Frederick 


The valley had never known such a fisher; he 
sold crawfish and trout to the great hotels of 
Strasbourg. Unhappily, as we all have to pay 
for our imprudences, sooner or later, he had been 
attacked by the rheumatism, and now all he could 
do was to sit and think about the best places in 
the river and the great hauls he used to make. 

When I discovered him, his little green eyes 
were already fixed upon me. 

“Ts it you, Father Frederick?” he said. 
““What is your business here among these ras- 
cals who are robbing us? If I were you, I would 
stay quietly in the forest; the wolves are much 
better neighbours.” 

“We cannot always do as we like,” I an- 
swered. ‘Are your three upper rooms still 
empty, and have you room enough in your 
stable for two cows ?” 

‘““Haven’t I, though!” he cried. ‘“ The Prus- 
sians have made room! They have taken every- 
thing—straw, hay, oats, flour, and the cattle. Ah! 
room; I guess so; from the garret to the cellar, 
we have plenty; it will not run out for a long 
time !” 

And he uttered a harsh laugh, gnashing his 
old teeth and muttering : 

“Oh! the wretches! God grant that we may 

108 


Brigadier Frederick 


one day have the upper hand; I would go there 
on crutches, in spite of my rheumatism, to get 
back what they took from me!” 

“Then,” said I, ‘“‘the rooms are empty ?” 

“Yes, and the stable, too, with the hayloft. 
But why do you ask me that ?” 

“ Because I have come to hire them.” 

“You!” cried he, in amazement. ‘“ Then you 
are not going to stay at the forest house ?” 

** No, the Prussians have turned me out.” 

“Turned you out! And why ?” 

‘“‘ Because I did not choose to serve under the 
Germans.” 

Then Ykel appeared touched ; his long hooked 
nose curved itself over his mouth, and, in a grave 
voice, he said : 

“T always thought you were an honest man. 
You were a little severe in the service, but you 
were always just; no one has ever been able to 
say anything to the contrary.” 

Then he called : 

“ Katel! Katel !” 

And his daughter, who had just lighted the fire 
on the hearth, entered. 

‘Look here, Katel,” said he, pointing to me; 
“here is Father Frederick, whom the Prussians 
have turned out of his house, with his daughter 

109 


Brigadier Frederick 


and grandmother, because he will not join their 
band. That is a thousand times worse than the 
requisitions ; it is enough to make one’s hair stand 
on end.” 

His, daughter also sided with us, crying that 
the heavens ought to fall to crush such rascals. 
She took me up-stairs, climbing the ladder-like 
stairs to show me the rooms that I wished to 
hire. 

You cannot imagine anything more wretched ; 
you could touch the beams of the ceiling with 
your hand ; the narrow windows, with lead-framed 
casements, in the shadow of the rocks, gave scarce- 
ly a ray of light. 

How different from our pretty cottage, so well 
lighted, on the slope of the hill! Yes, it was 
very gloomy, but we had no choice; we had to 
lodge somewhere. 

I told Katel to make a small fire in the large 
room, so as to drive away the damp; then, going 
down-stairs again, Father Ykel and I agreed that 
I should have the first floor of his house, two 
places in the stable for my cows, the little hayloft 
above, with a pig-sty, one corner of the cellar for 
my potatoes, and half the shed, where I intended 
to put the furniture that would not go into the 
rooms, at a rent of eight francs a month—a pretty 

110 


Brigadier Frederick 


large sum at a time when no one was making a 
centime. 

Two or three neighbours, the big coal man, 
Starck, and his wife; Sophie, the basket-maker ; 
Koffel, and Hulot, the old smuggler, were then 
arriving at the inn, to take their glass of brandy, 
as usual. Ykel told them of the new abomina- 
tions of the Germans; and they were disgusted 
at them. Starck offered to come with his cart 
and horses to help me to move, and I accepted, 
thankfully. 

Things were settled that way; Starck prom- 
ised me again to come without fail before noon ; 
after which I took the road towards home. It had 
begun to snow; not a soul before or behind me 
was on the path, and, about nine o'clock, I was 
stamping my feet in the entry to get off the snow. 

Marie-Rose was there. I told her briefly that 
I had engaged our lodgings, that she must pre- 
pare the grandmother to leave very soon, to empty 
the contents of the cupboards into baskets, and 
to take the furniture to pieces. I called Calas 
to help me and went to work at once, scarcely 
taking time enough to breakfast. The hammer 
resounded through the house ; we heard the grand- 
mother sobbing in the smaller room and Marie- 
Rose trying to console her. 

III 


Brigadier Frederick 


It all seems to come back to me. It was ter- 
rible to hear the lamentations of the poor old 
woman, to hear her complain of the fate that 
overwhelmed her in her old age, and then to call 
on her husband for aid, good Father Burat, who 
had died ten years before, and all the old people, 
whose bones lay in the cemetery at Désenheim. 
It makes me shudder when I think of it, and the 
kind words of my daughter come back to me and 
touch my heart anew. 

The hammer did its work; the furniture, the 
little looking-glass by Catherine’s bed—my poor 
dead wife—the portraits of the grandfather and 
grandmother, painted by Ricard, the same who 
painted the beautiful signs in the time of Charles 
X ; the two holy-water vessels and the old crucifix, 
from the back of the alcove; the chest of drawers 
belonging to Marie-Rose, and the large walnut- 
wood wardrobe that had come down to us from 
great-grandfather Duchéne; all those old things 
that reminded us of people long dead, and of our ~ 
quiet, peaceful life, and which, for many years, 
had. had their places, so that we could find them 
by groping in the darkest night ; everything was 
taken away; it was, so to speak, our existence 
that we had to undo: with our own hands eer 

And Ragot, who came and went; all aston- 

112 


Brigadier Frederick 


ished at the confusion ; Calas, who kept asking, 
““What have we done, to be obliged to run away 
like thieves?” And the rest !—for I do not re- 
member it at all, George! I would even like to 
forget it all, and never to have begun this story of 
the shame of humanity and the humiliation of 
that sort of Christians who reduce their fellow 
creatures to utter misery, because they will not 
kneel before their pride. However, since we have 
begun it, let us go on to the end. 

All that was nothing as yet. It was when big 
Starck came, and the furniture was loaded on his 
wagon, we had at last to tell the grandmother to 
leave her little room, and when, seeing all that 
desolation in the road, she fell on her face, crying : 

“ Frederick, Frederick, kill me! let me die, 
but do not take me away! Let me, at least, 
sleep quietly under the snow in our little gar- 
den !” 

Then, George, I wished that I were dead my- 
self. The blood seemed curdling in my veins. 
And now, after four years, I would be puzzled to 
tell you how the grandmother found herself placed 
in the cart, in the midst of the mattresses and 
straw beds, under the thousands of snow-flakes 
that were falling from the sky. 


8 113 


. 


Brigadier Frederick | 


»@,¢ Y , 


THE snow, which had continued to fall since 
morning, was by this time quite deep. The great 
wagon went slowly on its way, Starck, in front, 
pulling his nags by the bridle, swearing,-and for- 
cing them to advance by blows; Calas, farther on, 
was driving along the pigs and cows; Ragot was 
helping him; Marie-Rose and I followed, with 
drooping heads; and behind us the cottage, all 
white with snow, among the firs, was gradually 
vanishing in the distance. 

We had still our potatoes, wood, and fodder ~ 
to take away the next day, so I closed the door 
and put the key in my pocket before leaving. 

At nightfall we arrived before Ykel’s house. 
I took the grandmother in my arms, like a child, 
and carried her up-stairs to her room, where Katel 
had kindled a bright fire. Marie-Rose and Katel 
kissed each other ; they had been schoolmates and 
had been confirmed together at Felsberg. Katel 
_ burst into tears. Marie-Rose, who was deadly 
pale, said nothing. They went up-stairs together, 
and, while Starck and Calas and two or three of 
the neighbours were unloading the furniture and 
putting it under the shed, I went into the parlour, 
to sit down for a few minutes behind the stove 
114 


Brigadier Frederick. 


and to take a glass of wine, for I could not stand 
it any longer; I was exhausted. 

Our first night at Graufthal, in that loft, 
through which poured the draught from the gar- 
ret, is the saddest that J] can remember ; the stove 
smoked, the grandmother coughed in her bed; 
Marie-Rose, in spite of the cold, got up to give 
‘her a drink; the little window-panes rattled at 
every blast of the wind, and the snow drifted in 
upon the floor. 

Ah! yes, we suffered terribly that first night ! 
And, not being able to close my eyes, I said to 
myself : 

“Tt will, be impossible to live here! We 
should all be dead in less than two weeks. We 
must positively go somewhere else. But where 
shall we go? What road can we take ?” 

All the villages of Alsace and Lorraine were 
filled with Germans, the roads were crowded with 
‘cannon and convoys; not a hut, not even a stable 
was free. 

These ideas almost made my hair turn gray ; 
I wished that I had broken my neck in coming 
down the steps of the forest house, and I wished 
the same thing for the grandmother and my 
daughter. ; 

Happily, Jean “Merlirr arrived early the next 

115 


Brigadier Frederick 


morning. He had taken our answer to the Ober- 
fdrster, he had moved his furniture to Felsberg, 
and old Margredel, his mother, was already sitting 
quietly beside the fire at Uncle Daniel’s house. 

He told us that with a good-humoured air, 
after having kissed Marie-Rose and said good- 
morning to the grandmother. 

Only to see how his confidence had already 
lightened my heart; and when I complained of 
the cold, the smoke, and of our bad night, he 
cried : 

“Yes! I understand all that, brigadier; I 
thought as much; so I hurried to come here. 
It is very hard to leave your old ways and come 
to live among strangers at your age; that par- 
alyzes one’s arm. Such occasions change one’s 
ideas. Here is the key of my cottage and the 
book of estimations; you have also your regis- 
ter and the stamping hammer. Well, do you 
know what I would do in your place? I would 
take everything to our chief inspector, because 
the Oberférster of Zornstadt might ask you for 
them and force you to give them up. When they 
are deposited with M. Laroche no one will have 
anything more to say to you. While you are 
away Marie-Rose will wash the windows and the 


floor ; Calas will go with Starck to get the wood, 
116 


Brigadier Frederick 


the fodder, and the potatoes, and IJ will undertake 
to arrange the furniture and to put everything in 
order.” : 

He spoke with so much good sense that I fol- 
lowed his advice. We went down into the large 
room, and though it is not my habit, we took a 
good glass of brandy together; after which I set 
out, the register under my blouse, the hammer in 
my pocket, and a stout stick in my hand. It was 
my last journey through the country on affairs con- 
nected with the service. The pool of Frohmiihle 
was frozen over; the flour-mill and the saw-mill 
lower down had ceased to go. No one, since the 
day before, had followed my path; all seemed 
desolate ; for three hours I did not see a soul. 

Then, remembering the smoke from the char- 
coal kilns, the sound of the wood-cutters’ hatchets 
working in the clearings, lopping the trees, piling 
up the fagots beside the forest paths, even in mid- 
winter, al] that formerly gay life, that profit that 
gave food and happiness to the smallest hamlets, 
I said to myself that the robbers, who were capa- 
ble of troubling such order to appropriate wrong- 
fully the fruit of the labour of others, ought to be 
hanged. 

And from time to time, in the midst of the 
silence, seeing a sparrow-hawk pass on his large 

117 


Brigadier Frederick 


wings, his claws drawn up under his stomach and 
uttering his war cry, I thought : 

“That is like the Prussians! They have got 
the Germans in their claws ; they have given them 
officers who will cudgel them ; instead of working, 
those people are forced to spend their last penny 
in the war, and the others have always their beaks 
and claws in their flesh ; they pluck them leisurely, 
without their being able to defend themselves. 
Woe to us all! The noble Prussians will devour 
us; and the Badeners, the Bavarians, the Wiirtem- 
bergers, and the Hessians with us!” 

Those melancholy ideas, and many others of 
the same kind, passed through my mind. About 
ten o'clock I ascended the stairs of the old fort, 
abandoned since the beginning of the war; then 
descending the Rue du Faubourg, I entered the 
house of the chief inspector. But the office door 
in the vestibule at the left was closed; I rang and 
tried to open the door, but no one came. I was 
going out to ask one of the neighbours what had 
become of M. Laroche, and whether he had been 
obliged to go away, when an upper door opened, 
and the chief inspector himself appeared on the 
stairs in his dressing-gown. | 


118 


Brigadier Frederick 


XXI 


“Who is there?” said M. Laroche, not recog- 
nising me at first under my broad-brimmed felt 
hat. , 

“Tt is I, sir,” I answered. 

“Ah! it is you, Father Frederick!” said he, 
quite rejoiced. ‘Well, come up stairs. All my 
household has departed, I am here alone; they 
bring me my meals from the Grapes Inn. Come 
in, come in!” 

We went into a very neat little room on the 
first floor; a large fire was burning in the stove. 
And, pushing forward an arm-chair for me: 

“Take this chair, Father Frederick,” said he, 
seating himself beside a small table covered with 
books. So I sat down, and we began to talk over 
our affairs. I told him about our visit to the Ober- 
férster ; he knew all about that and a aH many 
other things beside. 

“T am glad to find,” said he, “that all our 
guards, except poor Hepp, the father of six chil- 
_ dren, have done their duty. With regard to you, 
Father Frederick, I never had the least doubt 
about either your son-in-law or yourself.” 

Then he inquired about our position ; and, tak- 
ing the register and the hammer, he put them in a 

119 


Brigadier Frederick 


closet, saying that his papers were already gone, 
that he would send these after them. He asked 
me if we were not in pressing need. I answered 
that I had still three hundred francs, that I had 
saved to buy a strip of meadow, beside the or- 
chard, that that would doubtless be sufficient.” 
‘‘So much the better!” said he. ‘ You know, 
Father Frederick, that my purse is at your service ; 
it is not very full just now; every one has to 
economize their resources, for Heaven only knows 
how long this campaign may last ; but if you want 


” 





some money 

I thanked him again. We talked together like 
real friends. He even asked me to take a cigar 
from his box; but I thanked him and refused. 
Then he asked me if I had a pipe, and told 
me to light it. I tell you this to make you un- 
derstand what a fine man our chief inspector 
was. 

I remember that he told me after that that all 
was not yet over; that doubtless our regular army 
had surrendered ex masse; that all our officers, 
marshals, generals, even the simple corporals had 
fallen into the power of the enemy, a thing that 
had never been seen before since the beginning of 
the history of France, or in that of any other na- 
tion ; that pained him, and even if I may say so 

120 


Brigadier Frederick 


made him indignant. He had tears in his eyes 
like myself. 

But after that, he said that Paris held good, 
that the great people of Paris had never shown so 
much courage and patriotism; he added that a 
large and solid army, though composed of young 
men, had been formed near Orleans, and that great 
things were expected from it; that the republic 
had been proclaimed after Sedan as the peasants 
go for a doctor when the patient is dying, and 
that, however, this republic had had the courage 
to take upon itself the burden of all the disasters, 
dangers that it had not caused, while those who 
had drawn us into the war withdrew to a foreign 
country. That a very energetic man, Gambetta, a 
member of the provisory government, was at the 
head of this great movement ; that he was calling 
around him all the Frenchmen in a condition to 
bear arms, without distinction of opinions, and 
that if the campaign lasted a few months longer 
the Germans could not hold out; that all the 
heads of the families being enlisted, their estates, 
their workshops, their improvements were neglect- 
ed. No ploughing or sowing were done, and that 
the women and children, the entire population, 
were dying of terrible starvation. 


We have since seen, George, that those things 
Vol. 11—J I2I 


Brigadier Frederick 


were true; all the letters that we found on the 
landwehr told of the terrible poverty in Germany. 

So what M. Laroche told me filled me with 
hope. He promised also to have my pension paid 
to me as soon as it would be possible, and about 
one o'clock I left him, full of confidence. He 
shook hands with me and called out from the 
door : 

‘‘ Keep up a good heart, Father Frederick ; we 
will have happy days yet.” 

After I left him I felt like another man, and I 
walked leisurely back to Graufthal, where a most — 
agreeable surprise awaited me. 


XXII 


Jean Meruin had put everything in order. 
The cracks in the roof and in the doors and win- 
dows were stopped up; the floor was washed, the 
furniture placed and the pictures hung, as much 
as possible as they were at the forest house. It 
was bitterly cold outside; our stove, which Jean 
had put up and blackleaded, drew like a forge bel- 
lows, and the grandmother, sitting beside it in her 
old arm-chair, was listening to the crackling of the 
fire, and looking at the flame which was lighting 

122 


Brigadier Frederick 


up the room. Marie-Rose, with her sleeves rolled 
up, seemed delighted at my satisfaction; Jean 
Merlin, his pipe in his mouth and screwing up his 
eyes, looked at me as if to say: 

“Well, Papa Frederick, what do you think of 
this? Is it cold now in this room? Is not every- 
thing clean, shining and in good order? Marie- 
Rose and I did all that ?” 

And when I saw all that I said to them: 

“ All right. The grandmother is warm. Now 
I see that we can stay here. You are good 
children !” | 

That pleased them very much. They set the 
table. Marie-Rose had made a good soup of cab- 
bages and bacon, for as the Germans took all the 
fresh meat for their own use we were very glad to 
get even smoked meat ; fortunately potatoes, cab- 
bages, and turnips did not run out and they formed 
our principal resource. 

That evening we all took supper together ; and 
during the repast I related in all its details what 
the chief inspector had told me about the affairs 
of the republic. It was the first positive news we 
had had from France for a long time ; so you may 
guess how eagerly they all listened to me. Jean’s 
eyes sparkled when I spoke of approaching battles 


near the Loire. 
123 


Brigadier Frederick 


“Ah!” said he, “they call the French the old 
soldiers. Indeed! they defend their country, 
then !” 

And I cried, full of enthusiasm : 

“Of course, they will defend their country! 
You had better believe it! The chief inspector 
says that if it lasts for a few months the others 
will have enough of it.” 

Then he twirled his mustache, seemed almost - 
to speak; but then looking at Marie-Rose, who 
was listening to us with her usual quiet aspect, he 
went on eating, saying : 

‘‘ Anyhow, you give me great pleasure by tell- 
ing me that, Father Frederick ; yes, it is famous 
news.” 

At last, about eight o’clock, he went away, an- 
nouncing that he would be back on the morrow 
or the day after, and we went quietly to bed. 

This night was as comfortable as the night 
before had been cold and disagreeable; we slept 
soundly in spite of the frost outside. 

I had recovered from my sorrow; I thought 
that we could live at Graufthal till the end of 
the war. 


124 


Brigadier Frederick 


XXIII 


OncE withdrawn under the rocks of Graufthal, 
I hoped that the Germans would let us alone. 
What else could they ask from us? We had given 
up everything ; we lived in the most wretched vil- 
lage in the country, in the midst of the forest; 
their squads came very seldom into this corner, 
whose inhabitants were so poor that they could 
scarcely find a few bundles of hay or straw to take 
away with them. All seemed for the best, and we 
thought that we would not have anything more to 
do with the accursed race. 

Unfortunately we are often mistaken; things 
do not always turn out as we thought they would. 
Soon it was rumoured that Donadien, big Kern, 
and the other guards had crossed the Vosges ; that 
they were fighting the Germans near Belfort, and 
all at once the idea struck me that Jean would also 
want to go. I hoped that Marie-Rose would keep 
him back, but I was not sure of it. The fear 
haunted me. 

Every morning, while my daughter arranged 
the rooms, and the grandmother told her beads, I 
went down stairs to smoke my pipe in the large 
room with Father Ykel. Koffel, Starck, and 
others would come dropping in, to take a glass of 

125 


Brigadier F rederick 


brandy ; they told of domiciliary visits, of orders 
not to ring the bells, of the arrival of German 
schoolmasters to replace our own, of the requisi- 
tions of all kinds that increased every day, of the 
unhappy peasants who were compelled to work to 
feed the Prussians, and of a thousand other atroc- 
ities that infuriated one against those stupid Ba- 
deners, Bavarians, and Wiirtembergers, who were 
allowing themselves to be killed for the sake of 
King William, and warring against their own in- 
terests. Big Starck, who was very pious, and al- 
ways went to mass every Sunday, said that they 
would all be damned, without hope of redemption, 
and that their souls would be burned to all 
eternity. 

That helped to make the time pass agreeably. 
One day Hulot brought us his grandson, Jean 
Baptiste, a big boy of sixteen, in his vest and 
pantaloons of coarse linen, his feet bare, winter as 
well as summer, in his large shoes, his hair hang- 
ing in long, yellow locks over his face, and a 
satchel hanging over his thin back. This boy, 
sitting in front of the fire, told us that at Sarre- 
bruck and Landau the /axdwehr were furious; 
that they were declaiming in all the taverns 
against the crazy republicans, the cause of all the 


battles since Sedan, and of the continuation of 
126 


Brigadier Frederick 


the war; that it had been reported that a battle 
had been fought at Coulmiers, near Orleans ; that 
the Germans were retreating in disorder, and that 
the army of Frederick Charles was going to their 
rescue ; but that our young men were also learn- 
ing to join the army of the republic; and that the 
haupimanner had laid a fine of fifty francs a day 
upon the parents of those who had left the coun- 
try, which had not prevented him, Jean Baptiste, 
from going to the rescue of his country like his 
comrades. 

Scarcely had he ceased to speak when I ran 
up the stairs, four steps at a time, to tell Marie- 
Rose the good news., I found her on the land- 
ing. She went down to the laundry, and did not 
appear in the least astonished. 

“Ves, yes, father,” she said, “I thought it 
would end that way; every one must lend a 
hand—all the men must go. Those Germans 
are thieves; they will return routed and de- 
feated.” 

Her tranquility astonished me, for the idea 
must have occurred to her, too, that Jean, an 
able-bodied man, would not stay at home at such 
a time, and that he might all at once go off 
yonder in spite of his promises of marriage. So 
I went to my room to think it over, while she 

127 


Brigadier Frederick 


went down, and two minutes afterward I heard 
Jean Merlin’s step upon the stairs. 

He came in quietly, his large felt hat on the 
back of his head, and he said good - humour- 
edly : 

“Good morning, Father Frederick; you are 
alone ?” 

‘““Yes, Jean; Marie-Rose has just gone to the 
laundry, and the grandmother is still in bed.” 

“Ah! very good,” said he, putting his stick 
behind the door. 

I suspected something was coming, from his 
look. He walked up and down, with bent head, — 
and, stopping suddenly, he said to me: 

‘““You know what is going on near Orleans? 
You know that the breaking up of the German 
army has begun, and that all willing men are called 
upon. What do you think of it ?” 

I flushed scarlet and answered, feeling rather 
embarrassed : : 

‘“‘ Yes, for those on the other side of the Loire 
it is all very well; but we others would have a 
long journey to take, and then the Prussians 
would arrest us on the road; they guard all the 
paths and highways.” 

‘“Pshaw !” said he; ‘‘ they think the Prussians 
more cunning than they really are. I would 

128 


Brigadier Frederick 


wager that I could pass the Vosges under their 
noses. Big Kern and Donadien have passed, 
with a good many others.” 

Then I knew that he wanted to go, that his 
mind was made up to a certain extent, and that 
gave me a shock; for if he once set off, Heaven 
only knew when his marriage would take place; 
the thought of Marie-Rose troubled me. 

“Very likely,” I said; ‘‘but you must think 
of the old people, Jean. What would your 
mother, good old Margredel, say, if you aban- 
doned her at such a time ?” 

“My mother is a good Frenchwoman,” he 
answered. ‘‘ We have talked it over, brigadier; 
she consents.” 

My arms dropped at my sides; I did not 
know what to reply; and only at the end of a 
minute I managed to say : 

“And Marie-Rose! You do not think of 
Marie-Rose! Yet you are betrothed. She is 
your wife in the eyes of God!” 

** Marie-Rose consents also,” he said. ‘‘We 
only want your consent now; say yes; all will be 
settled. The last time I was here, while you were 
down stairs smoking your pipe, I told Marie-Rose 
all about it. I said to her that a forest guard 
without a situation, an old soldier like me, ought 

» 129 


Brigadier Frederick — 


to be at the front; she understood and con- 
sented.” 

When he told me that, George, it was too 
-_ much; I cried: “I do. It is not possible!” 
And, opening the window, I called out : 

‘“‘ Marie-Rose! Marie-Rose! Come here. Jean 
has arrived.” 

She was hanging out clothes in the shed, and 
leaving at once her work, she came up stairs. 

‘“‘Marie-Rose,” I said, “is it true that you 
have consented to let Jean Merlin go to fight the 
Germans at Orleans, behind Paris? Is it true? 
Speak freely.” 

Then, pale as death, with flashing eyes, she 
said : 

“Yes. It is his duty. He must go. We do 
not wish to be Prussians, and the others ought 
not to fight alone to save us. He must be a man. 
He must defend his country.” | 

She said other things of the same kind that 
warmed my blood and made me think : 

““What a brave girl that is! No, I did not 
know her before. She is the true descendant of 
the old Burats. How the old people wake up 
and speak through the mouths of their children! 
They want us to defend the earth of the old 
cemetery where their bones lie buried.” 

130 


Brigadier Frederick 


I rose, white as a sheet, with open arms. 
“Come to my arms!” I said to them; ‘come to 
my arms! You areright. Yes, it is the duty of 
every Frenchman to go and fight. Ah! if I were 
only ten years younger, I would go with you, 
Jean ; we would be two brothers in arms.” And 
we embraced each other all round. 


XXIV 


I wert; I was proud of having so brave and 
honest a daughter, whom I had not appreciated 
till then; that made me lift up my head again. 
The resolution of Jean and Marie-Rose appeared 
natural to me. 

But, as we heard the grandmother groping her 
way from the other room, by leaning against the 
_ wall, I made a sign to them to be silent, and, 
when the poor old woman came in, I said: 

“Grandmother, here is Jean, whom the chief 
inspector is about to send to Gian de he will be 
there for some time.” 

“Ah!” said she. ‘There is no danger?” 

‘“No, grandmother, it is a commission for the 
forest registers; it has nothing to do with the 


” 


war. 
131 


Brigadier Frederick 


“So much the better!” said she. “How 
many others are in danger! We ought to be 
very happy to keep out of it!” 

Then, sitting down, she began, as usual, to say 
her prayers. 

What more can I tell you, George, about 
those things that rend my heart when I think 
about them ? 

Jean Merlin spent the whole day with us. 
Marie-Rose cooked as good a dinner as she could 
in our position; she put on her handsome cap 
and her blue silk fichu, so as to be agreeable to 
the eyes of the man she loved. 

I seem to see her still, sitting at the table 
near the grandmother, opposite her betrothed, and 
smiling, as if it were a holiday. I seem to hear 
Jean talking about the good news from Orleans, 
about the happy chances of the war, which are 
not always the same. 

Then, after dinner, while the grandmother 
dozes in her arm-chair, I see the two children 
sitting beside each other, near the little window, 
looking at each other, holding each other’s hand, 
and talking in a low voice, sometimes gaily, 
sometimes sadly, as is the custom with lovers. 

As for me, I walked up and down, smoking 
and thinking of the future. I listened to the 

132 


Brigadier Frederick 


hum of talk from the tavern, and, remembering 
the danger of leaving the country, the penalties 
established by the Germans against those who 
wished to join our armies, I seemed to hear the 
stamping of heavy boots and the rattle of sabres. 
I went down the stairs, and, half opening the 
door of the smoky room, I looked in, and then I 
went up stairs again, a little reassured, saying to 
myself that I ought not to be afraid, that more 
difficult lines of the enemy had been crossed, and 
that energetic men always got well through their 
business. So passed all that afternoon. 

Then, at supper, as the time for his departure 
drew near, a more terrible sadness and strange, 
unknown fears seized upon me. 

“Go to bed,” I said to the grandmother ; “the 
night has come.” 

But she did not hear me, being a little deaf, 
and she went on muttering her prayers, and we 
looked at each other, exchanging our thoughts by 
signs. At last, however, the poor old woman 
rose, leaning her two hands on the arms of her 
chair, and murmuring : 

“Good night, my children. Come, Jean, till 
I kiss you. Distrust the Prussians; they are 
traitors! Do not run any risks; and may the 
Lord be with you!” 

133 


Brigadier Frederick 


They kissed each other ; Jean seemed touched ; 
and when the door was closed, as the church clock 
was striking eight, and when the little panes were 
growing dark, he said . 

‘‘ Marie-Rose, the time has come. The moon 
is rising ; it is lighting already the path by which 
I must reach the Donon.” 

She flung herself into his arms and they held 
each other clasped in a close embrace for a long 
time, in silence, for down stairs they were talking 
and laughing still; strangers might be watching 
us, so we had to be prudent. 

You do not know, George, and I hope that 
you never will know, what a father feels at such a 
moment. 

At last they separated. Jean took his stick; 
Marie-Rose, pale, but composed, said: ‘“ Adzeu, 
| Jean!” And he, without answering, hurried out, 
breathing as if something was choking him. 

I followed him. We descended the dark little 
staircase, and on the threshold, where the moon, 
covered with clouds, cast a feeble ray, we also 
kissed each other. 

“You do not want anything?” I said, for I 
had put about fifty francs in my pocket. 

“No,” said he, ‘I have all that I need.” 

We held each other’s hands as if we could 

134 


Brigadier Frederick 


never let go, and we looked at each other as if 
we could read each other’s hearts. 

And, as I felt my lips quiver: 

“Come, father,” said he, in a trembling voice, 
“have courage ; we are men!” 

Then he strode away. I looked at him vanish- 
ing in the darkness, blessing him in my heart. I 
thought I saw him turn and wave his hat at the 
corner of the path, by the rock, but I am not sure. 

When I went in, Marie-Rose was seated on a 
chair by the open window, her head buried in her 
hands, weeping bitterly. The poor child had been 
courageous up to the last minute, but then her 
heart had melted into tears. 

I said nothing to her, and, leaving the small 
lamp on the table, I went into my room. 

These things happened in November, 1870. 
But much greater sorrows were to come. 


XXV 


AFTER that for a few days all was quiet. We 
heard nothing more from Orleans. From time to 
time the cannon of the city thundered, and was 
answered by that of the enemy from Quatre Vents 
and Werhem ; then all was silent again. 

135 


Brigadier Frederick 


The weather had turned to rain; it poured in 
torrents ; the melting snow floated in blocks down 
the course of the swollen river. People stayed 
in-doors, cowering close to the fire; we thought 
of the absent, of the war, of the marches and 
counter-marches. The gexs-d’armes of Bismark 
Bohlen continued to make their rounds; we saw 
them pass, their cloaks dripping with rain. The 
silence and the uncertainty overwhelmed one. 
Marie-Rose came and went without saying any- 
thing; she even put on a smiling aspect when my 
melancholy grew very great ; but I could see from 
her pallor what she was suffering. 

Sometimes, too, the grandmother, when we 
least expected it, would begin to talk about Jean, 
asking for news of him. We would answer her 
by some insignificant thing, and the short ideas of 
old age, her weakened memory, prevented her 
from asking more; she would be contented with 
what we could tell her, and murmured, thought- 
fully : 

“Very good! very good !” 

And then the cares of life, the daily labour, 
the care of the cattle and of the meh helped 
us to keep up. 

Poor Calas, having no more work to do with 
us, had turned smuggler between Phalsbourg and 

136 


Brigadier Frederick 


the suburbs, risking his life every day to carry 
a few pounds of tobacco or other such thing 
to the glacis; it was rumoured at this time 
that he had been killed by a German sentinel; 
Ragot had followed him ; we heard nothing more 
of either of them. They have doubtless been 
sleeping for a long time in the corner of a wood 
or in some hole or other; they are very fortu- 
nate. 

One morning, in the large down-stairs room, 
when we were alone, Father Ykel said to me: 

“ Frederick, it is known that your son-in-law, 
Jean Merlin, has gone to join our army. Take 
care, the Prussians may give you trouble !” 

I was all taken aback, and I answered, after a 


. moment: 


“No, Father Ykel! Jean is gone to Désen- 
heim on business; he is trying to collect old 
debts; at this time we need money.” 

“Pshaw!” said he, “you need not hide the 
truth from me; [ am an old friend of the Burats 
and you. Merlin has not been here for several 
days; he has crossed the mountain, and he did 
right ; he is a brave fellow; but there are plenty 
of traitors about here ; you have been denounced, 
so be on your guard.” 

This warning startled me, and, thinking that it 
Vol. 11—K 137 


Brigadier Frederick 


would be well to tell his mother, Margredel, and 
his Uncle Daniel, after breakfast, without saying 
anything to Marie-Rose, I took my stick and set 
out for Felsberg. 

It had stopped raining. The winter sun was 
shining over the woods, and this spectacle, after 
leaving our dark nook, seemed to revive me. As 
the path at the hill passed near the forest house, 
showing the old roof in the distance, I was touched 
by it. All my recollections came back to me, and 
it occurred to me to go and take a look at the 
cottage, and to look at the inside by standing on 
the bench by the wall. It seemed as if it would 
do me good to see once more the old room, 
wherein the old people had died and where my 
children had been born! My heart warmed at 
the idea and I went swiftly on, till, reaching the 
little bridge between the two willows, covered 
with frost, I stood still in horror. 

A German forest-guard, his green felt hat, with 
its cock-feathers, set on one side, his long-stemmed 
porcelain pipe in his great fair mustaches, and 
with his arms crossed on the window-sill, was 
smoking quietly, with a calm expression, happy 
as in his own house. He was looking smilingly 
at two chubby, fair-haired children, who were 
playing before the door, and behind him, in the 

138 


Brigadier Frederick 


shadow of the room, was leaning a woman, very 
fat, with red cheeks, calling, gaily : 

“Wilhelm, Karl, come in; here is your bread 
and butter !” 

All my blood seemed to go through my veins 
at the sight. How hard it is to see strangers in 
the old people’s house, where one has lived till 
one’s old age, from which one has been chased, 
from no crime of one’s own, only because others 
are masters and turn one out of doors! It is ter- 
rible ! 

The guard raising his head suddenly, I was 
afraid he would see me, so I hid myself. Yes, I 
hid myself behind the willows, hastening to reach 
the path farther on, and stooping like a malefac- 
tor. 1 would have been ashamed if that man had 
seen that the former master had found him in his 
house, in his room, beside his hearth; I blushed 
at the idea! I hid myself, for he might have 
laughed at the Alsatian, who had been turned out 
of doors; he might have enjoyed himself over it. 
But from that day hatred, which I had never 
known before, entered my heart; I hate those 
Germans, who peacefully enjoy the fruit of our 
toil, and consider themselves honest people. I 
abhor them ! 

From there I went up through the heath to 

139 


Brigadier Frederick 


Felsberg, feeling very sad and with hanging 
head. 

The poor village seemed as sad as I, among its 
heaps of mud and dunghills ; not a soul was to be 
seen in the street, where requisitions of all kinds 
had passed more than once. And at the old 
schoolhouse, when I tried to lift the latch, I found 
the door fastened. I listened ; no noise nor murmur 
of children was to be heard. I looked through 
the window; the copies were hanging there still 
by their strings, but the benches were empty. 

I called, ‘“‘ Father Daniel!” looking up at the 
first-floor windows, for the garden gate was also 
closed. Some moments later another door, that 
of Margredel’s house, built against the gable end, 
opened ; Uncle Daniel, an active little man, with 
coarse woollen stockings, and a black cotton skull 
cap on his head, appeared, saying : 

“Who is there?” I turned round. 

“Ah! it is Brigadier Frederick,” said he. 
“Come in!” 

“Then you do not live yonder any more?” 
said I. 

‘“No, since day before yesterday the school 
has been closed,” he answered, sadly. 

And in the lower room of the old cottage, 
near the little cast-iron stove, where the potatoes 

140 


Brigadier Frederick 


were cooking in the pot, sending their steam up 
to the ceiling, I saw Margredel, sitting on a low 
stool. 


XXVI 


MARGREDEL wore her usual open, kindly ex- 
pression, and even her usual smile. 

“ Ah!” said she, “‘ we have no longer our pretty 
up-stairs room for our friends. The Germans are 
hunting us out of every place; we will not know 
where to go soon! However, sit down there on 
the bench, Father Frederick, and, if you like, we 
will eat some potatoes together.” 

Her good-humour and her courage in such a 
wretched place made me still more indignant 
against those who had plunged us all into mis- 
fortune ; my consternation kept me from speaking. 

“ Are Marie-Rose and the grandmother well ?” 
asked Margredel. 

“ Yes, thank God!” I answered; ‘‘ but we are 
very uneasy about Jean. The Prussians know 
that he has gone; Father Ykel has warned me to 
be on my guard, and I came to warn you.” 

“Who cares for the Prussians?” said she, 
shrugging her shoulders contemptuously. ‘Ah! 
they are a bad race! Jean has crossed the moun- 

14! 


Brigadier Frederick 


tains long before this; if they had been able to 
stop him we would have heard of it by this time; 
they would have come to tell us, rubbing their 
hands with delight ; but he has got over; he is a 
fine fellow !” 

She laughed with all her toothless mouth. 

“Those who have to fight him will not laugh. 
He is safe with our volunteers! The guns and 
cannon are thundering yonder !” 

The poor woman saw the bright side of every- 
thing, as usual, and I thought : 

‘What a blessing it is to have a character like 
that ; how fortunate !” 

Uncle Daniel was walking about the room, 
saying : 

“Tt is because of Jean’s departure that the 
bandits shut up my school. They had nothing to 
reproach me with; they gave me no explanations ; 
they simply shut it up, that is all, and just gave 
us time enough to carry away our furniture; 
they looked at us crossly, crying, ‘ Schwzndé / 
schwindt /’” * 

“Yes,” cried Margredel, ‘they are sly hypo- 
crites ; they strike you heavy blows without warn- | 
ing. In the morning they smile at you, they sit 
by the fire like good apostles, they kiss your 





* Quick! quick! 
142 


Brigadier Frederick 


children with tears in their eyes; and then all at 
once they change their tone, they collar you, and 
turn you out of doors without mercy. Ah! those 
good Germans; we know those honest people 
now! But they will not always be so proud. 
Wait a bit; Heaven is just! Our own people 
will come back; Jean will be with them. You 
will see, Father Frederick! We will go back to 
the forest house; we will celebrate the wedding 
there! That is all I can say. Don’t you see, you 
must trust in God. Now we are suffering for our 
sins. But God will put everything to rights, 
when we will have finished expiating our faults. 
It cannot be otherwise. He uses the Prussians to 
punish us. But their turn will come; we will go 
to their country. They will see how agreeable it 
is to be invaded, robbed, pillaged. Let them have 
acare! Every dog has his day!” 

She spoke with so much confidence that it in- 
fected me; I said to myself : 

‘What she says is very possible. Yes, justice 
will be done, sooner or later! After all, we may 
take Alsace again. Those Germans do not like 
each other. We would only have to win one 
great battle; the break-up would begin at once. 
The Bavarians, the Hessians, the Wiirtembergers, 
the Saxons, the Hanoverians, they would all go 

143 


Brigadier Frederick 


home again. We would have it all our own 
way !” 

But, in the meantime, we were in a very sad ~ 
position. Margredel said that they had enough 
rye and potatoes to last till the end of the war, 
and that, with a few sous’ worth of salt, would be 
sufficient for them. 

Master Daniel compressed his lips and looked 
thoughtful. 

So, having seen how things were getting along 
at Felsberg, I took leave of my old friends about 
eleven o'clock, wishing them all the good things 
in the world. 

I avoided passing by the forest house, and I 
descended the hill of Graufthal by the forest of fir 
trees among the rocks, leaning on my stick in the 
‘steepest places. 

I remember meeting, about two-thirds of my 
way down, old Roupp, an incorrigible thief, with 
his faded little blouse, his cotton cravat rolled like 
a rope round his lean neck, and his hatchet in his 
hand. 

He was chopping away right and left, at every- 
thing that suited him; huge branches, small fir 
trees, everything went into his magnificent fagot, 
which was lying across the path, and as I called to 
him : 

144 


Brigadier Frederick 


“Then you are not afraid of the Prussian 
guards, Father Roupp !” 

He began to laugh, with his chin turned up 
and his scrap of felt hat on the back of his neck, 
and wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

“Ah! brigadier,” said he, merrily, “those 
people don’t risk themselves alone in the forest ! 
Unless they come in regiments, with cannon in 
front of them and uhlans on every side, and ten 
against one, they always follow the high roads. 
They are fellows that have a great respect for their 
skins. Ha! ha! ha!” 

I laughed, too, for he only told the truth. But 
a terrible surprise awaited me a little farther on, 
at the descent of the rocks. 

When I left the wood and saw the little 
thatched roofs at the foot of the hill, among the 
heath, I first saw helmets glittering in the narrow 
lane in front of Father Ykel’s hut, and, looking 
closer, I perceived a ragged crowd of men and 
women gathered around them; Ykel, at the door 
of the inn, was talking; Marie-Rose behind, in 
front of the dark stable, and the grandmother at 
her little window, with uplifted hands, as if cursing 
them. 


10 145 


Brigadier Frederick 


XXVII 


NaTuRALLYy, I began to run through the brush- 
wood, knowing that something serious was hap- 
pening, and descending the passage of the old 
cloister, to make a short cut, I came out behind 
the stable, at the moment that some one was leav- 
ing it, dragging our two cows, tied by the horns. 

It was the station-master of Bockberg, named 
Toubac, a short, thick-set man, with a black beard, 
whose two tall, handsome daughters were said to 
be the servants of the Prussian aupitmann,* who 
had lodged at his house since the beginning of the 
siege. 

When I saw this rascal taking away my cattle, 
I cried : 

‘““What are you doing, thief? Let my cows 
alone, or I will break every bone in your body.” 

Then, at my cries, the sergeant and his squad 
of men, with drawn bayonets, Ykel, Marie-Rose, 
and even the grandmother, dragging herself along 
and leaning against the wall, entered the passage. 

Marie-Rose cried out to me: 

“‘ Father, they want to take away our cows.” 

And the grandmother said lamentingly : 

“Good Heavens! what will:-we have to live 





* Captain. 


146 


Brigadier Frederick 


on? Those cows are our only possession ; they 
are all that we have left !” 

The sergeant, a tall, lean man, with a tight- 
fitting uniform and with a sword at his side, hear- 
ing Ykel say, ‘‘ Here is the master! the cows be- 
long to him!” turned his head, as if on a pivot, 
and looked at me over his shoulder ; he wore spec- 
tacles under his helmet, and had red mustaches 
and a hooked nose; he looked like an owl, who 
turns his head without moving his body ; a very 
bad face ! 

The crowd was blocking up the passage and 
the sergeant cried : | 

“Back! Clear the premises, corporal, and if 
they resist, fire upon them!” 

The trampling of the sadots in the mud and 
the cries of the grandmother, weeping and sob- 
bing, made this scene fearful. 

“These cows suit me,” said the station-mas- 
ter to the sergeant; “I will take them; we can 


” 


go. 

“Do they belong to you ?” said I, angrily, and 
clutching my stick. 

“That is no affair of mine,” said he, in the tone 
of a bandit, without heart and without honour. “I 
have my choice of all the cows in the country to 
replace those that the rascals from Phalsbourg car- 

147 


Brigadier Frederick 


ried off from me at their last sortie. I choose 
these. They are Swiss cows. I always liked. 
Swiss cows.” 

‘““And who gave you the choice?” I cried, 
“Who can give you other people’s property ?” 

“The haupimann, my friend, the haupimann /” 
said he, turning up the brim of his hat with an air 
of importance. 

Then several of the crowd began to laugh, say- 
ing, “‘ The Lauptmann is a generous man ; he pays 
those well who give him pleasure.” 

My indignation overcame me; and the ser- 
geant having ordered his squad of men to go on, 
at the moment when the station-master, crying 
“Hue!” was dragging my poor cows after him by 
the horns, I was about to fall upon him like a wolf, 
when Marie-Rose took’ hold of my hands and 
whispered to me with a terrified look : 

“Father, do not stir, they would kill you. 
Think of grandmother.” 

My cheeks were quivering, my teeth clenched, 
red flames were dancing before my eyes; but the 
thought of my daughter alone in the world, aban- 
doned at this terrible time, and of the grand- 
mother dying of hunger, gave me the strength to 
keep down my rage, and I only cried: 

‘“‘Go, scoundrel! Keep the property you have 

148 





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2, 


PUSS eee 
TO 


2) 
= 


Pe 
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fied off bie me at thei “he oot 
“these. ‘They are Sei cow 
Swiss cows,” °: Mee 5 a 
“And who gave ‘yeee: ne khotel s 
“ Who can give you other peaple's p i en 
The hasten ay friend, the ia 
said he, turning wp the bebe yet his ha 2 
of 3 imMportarneT. | ae 
Theo sesera) of the cowl beggin’ orl 
ings! Tie Aner & teva a} 
those wrath wile gime tie plegsure,” 
| Wy - idigmatiar. ovetoame mes 
yeant having ordered hie squad of £ 
ge the dierent. when the station 
“Hue!” wat dragging my or sole 
.. the horns, } was abeut to fall upon hing 
wher Maric-Rose . took> hold of ed, 
whispered? to me with a terifed looks 
og Father, do not. stir, tley wold 
‘TL bio of grandmother,” 
My checks were quivering, my: ver’ 
sod famies were daricing befote my eyes. 
thoughitcf ty daughter @loné inthe | ae 
done ma bd veclibte SAE Ng SB 
BA YW, 40. GIO 
motliar moe Of hunger, Save mre of stre 
reop dawn my sage, and DL only eried : | 
Da, scoundrel { 4. Keep the propery 
14Z 





























Brigadier Frederick 


stolen from me, but beware of ever meeting me 
alone in the forest !” | 

The sergeant and his men pretended not to 
hear ; and he, the wretch, said, laughing : 

“These cows, sergeant, are as good as mine; 
after a long search we ended by finding two fine 
animals.” 

They had searched all the villages, visited all 
the stables, and it was on us that the misfortune 
fell. Marie-Rose, on seeing the poor beasts raised 
by us at the forest house, could not restrain her 
tears, and the grandmother, her hands clasped 
above her gray head, cried: 

“Ah! now—now we are lost! Now this is 
the last stroke. My God, what have we done to 
deserve such misery !” 

I supported her by the arm, asking her to go 
in, but she said: 

“Frederick, let me look once more at those 
good creatures. Oh! poor Bellotte! Poor Blan- 
chette! I will never see you again!” 

It was a heartrending spectacle, and the people 
dispersed quickly, turning away their heads, for 
the sight of such iniquities is the most abominable 
thing on earth. At last, however, we were obliged 
to ascend to our wretched little rooms, and think 
over our desolation; we had to think how we 

149 


Brigadier Frederick 


should live, now that all our resources were taken 
away. You know, George, what a cow is worth 
to a peasant; with a cow in the stable one has 
butter, milk, cheese, all the necessaries of life; to 
possess a cow is to be in easy circumstances, two 
are almost wealth. Up to the present time we 
could sell the produce and make a few sous in 
that way ; now we would have to buy everything 
at this time of dearth, while the enemy fattened 
on our poverty. 

Ah! what a terrible time it was! Those who 
come after us will have no idea of it. 


XXVIII 


At that we had left were five or six hundred 
weight of hay and potatoes. Ykel, who sympa- 
thized with all our griefs, said to me the same 
day : 

“Look here, brigadier; what I predicted has 
come to pass. The Germans hate you, because 
you refused to serve under them, and because your 
son-in-law has gone to join the republicans. If 
they could drive you away, or even kill you, they 
would do it ; but they want still to give themselves 
airs of justice and highmindedness ; for that reason 

150 


Brigadier Frederick 


they will strip you of : everything to force you to 
leave the country, as they say ‘of your own free 
will!’ Take my advice, get rid of your fodder as 
quickly as possible, for one of these fine mornings 
they will come to requisition it, saying that those 
who have no cows have no need of fodder. And, 
above all, do not say that I gave this advice !” 

I knew that he was right; the next day my 
hayloft was empty; Gaspard, Hulot, Diederick, 
Jean Adam, big Starck, all the neighbours came 
that evening and carried off our provision of hay 
by bundles, and in this way I had a few francs in 
reserve. Starck even gave up to me one of his 
goats, which was of the greatest use to us; at least 
the grandmother had a little milk, morning and 
evening, that prolonged her life; but after so 
many shocks the poor old woman was terribly 
weakened, she trembled like a leaf, and no longer 
left her bed, dreaming always, murmuring prayers, 
talking of Burat, her husband; of Grandfather 
Duchéne, of all the old people that returned to 
her memory. Marie-Rose spun beside her, and 
sat up till late at night, listening to her laboured 
breathing and her complaints. 

I sat alone in the side room, near the little 
windows, almost blocked with snow, my legs 
crossed, my unlighted pipe between my teeth, 

151 


Brigadier Frederick 


thinking of all the acts of injustice, of all the 
thefts, of those abominations that took place every 
day ; I began to lose confidence in the Almighty! — 
Yes, it is a sad thing to think of, but by dint of 
suffering I said to myself that among men many 
resemble the sheep, the geese, and the turkeys, 
destined to feed the wolves, the foxes and the 
hawks, who feast themselves at their expense, 
And I pushed my indignation so far as to say to 
myself that our holy religion had been invented 
by malicious people to console fools for being 
preyed upon by others. You see, George, to what 
excesses injustice drives us. But the worst of all 
was, that there was bad news from the interior. A . 
party of Germans came from Wechem to confis- 
cate my hay and found the loft empty ; they were 
indignant at it; they asked me what had become 
of the fodder, and I told them that the station- 
master’s cows had eaten it. My goat happened 
fortunately to be among those of Starck, or the 
bandzts would certainly have carried it off with 
them. 

This troop of brawlers, then going into the inn, 
related how the republicans had been beaten ; that 
they had left thousands of corpses on the field of 
battle ; that they had been repulsed from Orleans, 
and that they were still pursuing them; they 

152 


Brigadier Frederick 


laughed and boasted among themselves. We did 
not believe one quarter of what they said, but their 
good-humoured air and their insolence in speaking 
of our generals, forced us to think that it was not 
all a lie. 

As to Jean, no letters, no news! What had 
become of him? This question, which I often 
asked myself, troubled me. I was careful not to 
speak of it to Marie-Rose ; but I saw by her pallor 
that the same thought followed her everywhere. 

It was now December. For some time the 
cannon of Phalsbourg had been silenced, it was 
said that at night flames had been seen to rise sud- 
denly from the ramparts; we wondered what it 
could be. We have since learned that they were 
burning the powder and breaking up the artillery 
material, and they were spiking the cannon, for 
the provisions were running out and they were 
about to be forced to open the gates. 

This misfortune happened on the thirteenth of 
December, after six bombardments and a hundred 
and twenty days of siege. Half the city was in 
ruins; at the bombardment of the fourteenth of 
August alone eight thousand five hundred shells 
had laid whole streets in ruins; and the poor fel- 
lows picked up hastily in the suburbs at the time 


of the terrible heat and sent into the city, with 
Vol, 11—L . 153 


Brigadier Frederick 


nothing but the blouses on their backs and their 
shoes on their feet, after having passed that fear- 
ful winter on the ramparts, were carried off again 
as prisoners of war, some to Rastadt, others to 
Prussia, through the snow. On hearing this news 
the consternation became universal. As long as 
the cannon of Phalsbourg thundered we had kept 
up our hopes. We said from time to time, 
“France still speaks!” And that made us lift up 
our heads again; but then the silence told us that 
the Germans were really our masters, and that we 
must make ourselves small so as not to draw 
down their anger upon us. 

From that day, George, our sadness knew no 
bounds. To add to our misfortune, the grand- 
mother grew much worse. One morning when I 
entered her room, Marie-Rose said to me in a low 
voice : 

“Father, grandmother is very sick. She does 
not sleep any more. She seems suffocating! You 
ought to go for the doctor.” 

“You are right, my daughter,” said I; “ per- 
haps we have waited too long as it is.” 

And, in spite of the pain of seeing our old 
fortress in the enemy’s hands, I determined to go 
to Phalsbourg in search of a physician. That day 
the country was nothing but mud and clouds. I 

154 


Brigadier Frederick 


went straight forward, with drooping head, walk- 
ing on the slope at the edge of the road, my mind 
a blank, from having thought for so many months 
of our abasement, and so downcast that I would 
have given my life for nothing. 

On the plateau of Bugelberg, just outside of 
the forest, seeing before me about three leagues 
distant the little city looking as if crushed under 
the gloomy sky, its burned houses, its ruined 
church, its ramparts levelled with the ground, I 
stopped for a moment, leaning on my stick and 
recalling bygone days. 

How many times during the past twenty-five 
years | had gone there on Sundays and holidays 
with my poor wife, Catherine, and my daughter, 
either to go to mass, or to see the booths of the 
fair, or to shake hands with some old comrades, 
laughing, happy, thinking that everytring would 
continue that way till the end of our days! And 
all the vanished joys, the old friends, who, in their 
little gardens at the foot of the glacis, called to us 
to come to pick currants or to gather a bunch of 
flowers, seemed to return. How many recollec- 
tions returned to me! I could not remember 
them all, and I cried to myself : 

“Oh! how distant those things are! Oh! 
who would ever have believed that this misfor- 

155 


Brigadier Frederick 


tune would come upon us, that we, Frenchmen 
and Alsatians, should be obliged to bow our 
necks to the Prussian yoke !” 

My sight grew dim, and I set out again on my 
journey, murmuring in my soul the consolation of 
all the wretched : 

“Bah! life is short. Soon, Frederick, all will 

be forgotten. So take courage, you have not 
much longer to suffer.” 
_ I seemed also to hear the trumpet of our joy- 
ous soldiers; but at the gate, a squad of Germans, 
in big boots, and their sentinel, with bow-legs, his 
gun on his shoulder, his helmet on the back of 
his neck,-and, walking to and fro in front of the 
guard-house, recalled to me our position. My 
old comrade, Thomé, city overseer and collector 
of the city duties, beckoned to me to come in. 
We talked over our misfortunes ; and, seeing that 
I was looking at a company of Prussians crossing 
the bridge, who, holding themselves erect, were 
keeping step, he said : 

“Do not look at them, Frederick, they are 
proud when one looks at them; they think that 
we are admiring them.” 

Then I turned away my eyes, and having 
rested for a few minutes I entered the city. f 


156 


Brigadier Frederick 


XXIX 


Do I need to describe to you now the desola- 
tion of that poor Phalsbourg, formerly so neat, 
the little houses so well built, the large parade 
ground, so gay on review day? Must I tell you 
of the houses fallen over on each other, the gables 
overturned, the chimneys in the air amid the 
ruins; and of the taverns filled with Germans, 
eating, drinking and laughing, while we, with long 
faces, looking scared, wretched and ragged after 
all these disasters, saw these intruders enjoying 
themselves with their big pay taken out of our 
pockets? No, only at the thought of it, my heart 
sickens; it is a thousand times worse than all that 
people relate. 

As I reached the corner of the parade ground, 
opposite the church tower, which was still stand- 
ing, with its cracked bells and its virgin with up- 
lifted arms, a harsh voice called from the state- 
house : 

“ Heraus /” * 

It was the sergeant of the station who was 
ordering his men to go out; the patrolling officer 
was coming, the others hastened from the guard- 
house and formed the ranks; it was noon. I had 





* Get out. 


157 


Brigadier Frederick 


halted in consternation before the Café Vacheron. 
A crowd of poor people, homeless, without work 
and without food, were walking backward and for- 
ward, shivering with their hands in their pockets 
up to the elbows; and I, knowing from what 
Thomé had said that the military hospital and the 
college were crowded with the sick, asked myself 
if I could find a doctor to visit at Graufthal a 
poor old woman at the point of death. I was 
overwhelmed with sadness and doubt. I did not 
know to whom to address myself or what to do, 
when an old friend of the forest house, Jacob 
Bause, the first trout fisher of the valley, began to 
call behind me: 

“Hallo! it is Father Frederick? Then you 
are still in the land of the living ?” 

He shook hands and seemed so glad to see me 
that I was touched by it. 

“Ves,” said I, ““we have escaped, thank God. 
When one meets people now one almost thinks 
that they have been resuscitated, Unfortunate- 
ly grandmother is very ill and I do not know 
where to find a doctor in the midst of this confu- 
sion.” 

He advised me to go to Dr. Simperlin, who 
lived on the first floor of the Café Vacheron, say- 
ing that he was a good and learned man, and a 

158 


Brigadier Frederick 


true Frenchman, who would not refuse to accom- 
pany me, in spite of the length of the road and 
the work he had in the town, at the time of this 
extraordinary press of business. So I went up 
stairs; and Dr. Simperlin, who was just sitting 
down to dinner, promised to come as soon as he 
had finished his repast. Then, feeling a little 
more easy, | went down stairs into the large 
coffee room, to take a crust of bread and a glass 
of wine, while waiting for him. The room was 
filled with /axdwehr; fat citizens in uniform, 
brewers, architects, farmers, bankers, and _hotel- 
keepers, come to take possession of the country 
under the command of the Prussian chiefs, who 
made them march like puppets. 

All these people had their pockets full of 
money, and to forget the unpleasantness of their 
discipline they ate as many sausages with sauer- 
kraut, and as much ham and salad with cervelats 
as our veterans used formerly to drink glasses of 
brandy. Some drank beer, others champagne or 
burgundy, each according to their means, of 
course without offering any to their comrades— 
that is understood ; they all ate with two hands, 
their mouths open to the ears, and their noses in 
their plates; and all that I say to you is, that as 
this muddy, rainy weather prevented us from’ 

159 


Brigadier Frederick 


opening the windows, one had sometimes to go 
outside in order to breathe. 

I seated myself in one corner with my mug of 
beer, looking at the tobacco smoke curling round 
the ceiling, and the servants bringing in what was 
wanted, thinking of the sick grandmother, of the 
ruins that I had just seen, listening to the Ger- 
mans, whom I did not understand, for they spoke 
an entirely different tongue from that of Alsace; 
and at the other end of the room some Phals- 
bourgers were talking of an assistance bureau that 
was being organized at the State House, of a soup 
kitchen that they wished to establish in the old 
cavalry barracks, for the poor; of the indemnities 
promised by the Prussians, and on which they 
counted but little. 

The time passed slowly. I had ended by not 
listening at all, thinking of my own misery, when 
a louder, bolder voice drew me from my reflec- 
tions; I looked: it was Toubac, the station-master 
of Bockberg, who was interrupting the conversa- 
tion of the Phalsbourgers, who cried, audaciously 
thumping the table with his big fist : 

“Tt is all very well for you, city people, to talk 
now about the miseries of war. You were behind 
your ramparts, and when the shells came you ran 
into your casemates. No one could take anything 

160 


Brigadier F rederick 


from you. Those whose houses are burned will 
receive larger indemnities than they are worth; 
the old, worm-eaten furniture will be replaced by 
new, and more than one whose tongue was hang- 
ing before the campaign can rub his hands and 
stick out his stomach, saying: ‘The war has made 
me a solid citizen; I have paid my debts and I 
pass for a famous warrior because my cellar was 
bullet proof. I will devote myself to staying in 
my country to buy cheap the goods of those who 
are going away with the money from my indem- 
nities ; I will sacrifice myself to the end as I have 
done from the beginning.’ Yes, that kind of war 
is agreeable; behind strong walls all goes well. 
While we poor peasants, we were obliged to feed 
the enemies, to give them hay, straw, barley, oats, 
wheat, and even our cattle, do you hear ?—our last 
resource. They took my two cows, and now who 
shall I ask to repay me for them ?” 

This was too much. When he said that, the 
effrontery of the rascal made me so indignant that 
I could not help calling to him from my place: 

““Ah! wicked scoundrel, do you dare to boast 
of your sufferings and of your noble conduct dur- 
ing our misfortunes? Speak of your sacrifices and 
the good example that your daughters set. Tell 
those gentlemen how, having searched the country 

o 161 


Brigadier Frederick 


with a squad of Germans, who gave you your 
choice among all the animals of the mountains 
and the plain, to replace your wretched beasts, 
after having stolen, by this means, my two beauti- 
ful Swiss cows, you are not yet satisfied. You 
dare to complain, and to undervalue honest folk 
who have done their duty ?” 

As I spoke, thinking that this rascal was the 
cause of the grandmother’s illness, I grew more 
and more angry ; I would have restrained myself, 
but it was too much for me, and all at once, seiz- 
ing my stick with both hands, I rushed upon him 
to knock him down. 

Fortunately, Fixeri, the baker, who was sitting 
beside this rascal, seeing my uplifted stick, parried 
the blow with his chair, saying: 

“Father Frederick, what are you thinking 
about ?” 

This had a terrible effect - all the room was in 
a commotion and trying to separate us. He, the 
thief, finding himself behind the others, shook his 
fist at me and cried: 

“Old rascal! I will make you pay for that! 
The Germans would have nothing to do with you. 
The Oberférster turned you out. You would 
have liked to have served under them, but they 


knew you; they slammed the door in your face. 
162 


Brigadier Frederick 


That annoys you. You insult honest people ; but 
look out, you will hear from me soon.” 

These astounding lies made me still more furi- 
ous; it took five or six men to hold me, so as to 
prevent me from getting at him. 

I should have ended by turning everything 
upside down, if the /axdwehr had not called a 
party of watchmen who were passing along the 
road. Then, hearing the butt ends of the muskets 
as they were grounded at the door, and seeing the 
helmets in front of the window, I sat down again, 
and everything calmed down. 

The corporal came in; Mme. Vacheron made 
him take a glass of wine at the bar, and as the 
noise had ceased, after wiping his mustaches, he 
went out, making the military salute. But Tou- 
bac and I looked at each other with sparkling eyes 
and quivering lips. He knew, the wretch, that 
now his shame would be discovered all through 
the city, and that made him beside himself with 
rage. 

As for me, I thought, ‘‘ Only manage to be in 
my way going to Biechelberg ; I will pay you off 
for all that you have done; the poor grandmother 
will be avenged.” 

He, doubtless, had the same thoughts, for he 
looked at me sideways, with his rascally smile. I 

163 


Brigadier Frederick 


was very glad when Dr. Simperlin appeared on 
the threshold of the room, making me a sign to 
follow him. 

I left at once, after having paid for my glass 
of wine, and we set out for Graufthal. 


XXX 


You know, George, how much bad weather 
adds to one’s melancholy. It was sleeting, the 
great ruts full of water were ruffled by the wind. 
Dr. Simperlin and I walked for a long time in 
silence, one behind the other, taking care to avoid 
the puddles in which one could sink up to his 
knees. 

Farther on, after having passed the Biechel- 
berg, on the firmer ground of the forest, I told 
the doctor about the offers that the Oberférster 
had made to us, and the refusal of all our guards 
except Jacob Hepp; of our leaving the forest 
house, and of our little establishment at Ykel’s, in 
a cold corner of the wretched inn, under the rocks, 
where the grandmother had not ceased to cough 
for six weeks. 

He listened to me with bent head, and said at 
the end that it was very hard to leave one’s home, 

164 


Brigadier Frederick 


one’s fields, one’s meadows, and the trees that one 
has planted ; but that one should never draw back 
before one’s duty ; and that he also was about to 
leave the country with his wife and children, 
abandoning his practice, the fruit of his labour for 
many years, so as not to become one of the herd 
of King William. 

Talking thus, about three o’clock, we reached 
the wretched tavern of Graufthal. We ascended 
the little staircase. Marie-Rose had heard us; she 
was at the door, and hastened to offer a chair to 
Dr. Simperlin. 

The doctor looked at the black beams of the 
ceiling, the narrow windows, the little stove, and 
said : 

“It is very small and very dark for people ac- 
customed to the open air.” 

He was thinking of our pretty house in the 
valley, with its large, shining windows, its white 
walls. Ah! the times had changed sadly. 

At last, having rested for a few minutes, to get 
his breath, he said : 

“Let us go see the invalid.” 

We entered the little side room together. The 
day was declining ; we had to light the lamp, and 
the doctor, leaning over the bed, looked at the 
poor old woman, saying : 

165 


> 


Brigadier Frederick 


‘Well, grandmother Anne, I was passing by 
Graufthal, and Father Frederick beckoned me in; 
he told me that you were not very well.” 

Then the grandmother, entirely aroused, recog- 
nised him and answered : 

“Ah! it is you, M. Simperlin. Yes, yes; I 
have suffered, and I suffer still. God grant it 
will soon be over !” 

She was so yellow, so wrinkled and so thin, 
that one thought when one looked at her: 

‘‘Good heavens, how can our poor lady con- 
tinue to exist in such a condition !” 

And her hair, formerly gray, now white as_ 
snow, her hollow cheeks, her eyes glittering, and 
a forehead all shrivelled with wrinkles, made her, 
so to speak, unrecognisable. 

The doctor questioned her ; she answered very 
well to all his questions. He listened with his ear 
at her chest, and then at her back, while I held her 
up. At last he said, smiling: 

“Well, well, grandmother, we are not yet in 
danger. This bad cold will pass away with the 
winter; only you must keep yourself warm, and 
not give way to sad thoughts. You will soon re- 
turn to the forest house ; all this cannot last.” 

“Yes, yes,” said she, looking at us. “I hope 
that all will come right ; but I am very old.” 

166 


Brigadier Frederick 


“Bah ! when one has kept up like you, is one 
old? All this has been caused by a draught; 
you must take care of draughts, Mlle. Marie- 
'.Rose. Come, keep up your courage, grand- 
mother.” 

So said the doctor ; the grandmother seemed a 
little reassured. 

We left the room, and outside, when I was 
questioning him and my daughter was listening, 
Dr. Simperlin asked me: 

“Shall I speak before Mlle. Marie-Rose ?” 

“Yes,” I answered, “for my poor daughter 
takes care of the invalid, and she ought to know 
all; if the illness is serious, if we are to lose the 
last creature who loves us and whom we love— 
well, it is always best to know it beforehand, than 
to be struck by the misfortune without having 
been warned.” 

“Well,” said he, “the poor woman is ill not 
only because of her old age, but principally be- 
cause of the grief which is sapping her constitu- 
tion. She has something preying upon her mind, 
and it is that which makes her cough. Take care 
not to grieve her; hide your troubles from her. 
Always look gay before her. Tell her that you 
have strong hopes. If she looks at you, smile 
at her. If she is uneasy, tell her it is nothing. 

167 


Brigadier Frederick 


Let no one come in, for fear they should tell 
her bad news; that is the best remedy I can give 
you.” 

While he spoke, Marie-Rose, who was very 
much alarmed, was coughing behind her hand, with 
a little hacking cough; he interrupted himself, and, 
looking at her, he said: 

“Have you coughed like that for any length 
of time, Mlle. Marie-Rose ?” 

‘For some time,” she answered, flushing. 

Then he took her arm and felt her pulse, say- 
ing as he did so: 3 

“You must be careful and look after yourself, 
too; this place is not healthy. Have you fever at 
nights ?” 

‘No, sir.” 

“Well, so much the better ; but you must take 
care of yourself; you must think as little as pos- 
sible of sad things.” 

Having said that, he took his hat from my bed 
and his cane from the corner, and said to me, as 
we were descending the stairs together : 

‘“You must come to the city to-morrow, and 
you will find a little bottle at the shop of Reeb, 
the apothecary ; you must give three drops of it, 
in a glass of water, morning and evening, to the 
grandmother ; it is to calm that suffocating feel- 

168 


Brigadier Frederick 


ing; and look after your daughter, too ; she is very 
much changed. When I remember Marie-Rose, as 
fresh and as healthy as she was, six months ago, it 
makes me uneasy. Take care of her.” 

‘Gracious Heavens!” said I to myself, in de- 
spair ; “take care of her! Yes, yes, if I could give 
her my own existence ; but how take care of peo- 
ple who are overwhelmed by fears, grief, and 
regrets ?” 

And, thinking of it; I could have cried like a 
child. M. Simperlin saw it, and, on the threshold, 
shaking my hand, he said: 

““We, too, are very sick; is it not so, Father 
Frederick? Yes, terribly sick. Our hearts are 
breaking ; each thought kills us; but we are men; 
we must have courage enough for everybody.” 

I wanted to accompany him at least to the end 
of the valley, for the night had come; but he re- 
fused, saying : 

“T know the way. Go up stairs, Father Fred- 
erick, and be calm before your mother and your 
daughter ; it is necessary.” 

He then went away and I returned to our 
apartments. 


Vol. 11—M 169 


Brigadier Frederick » 


XXXI 


Two or three days passed away. I had gone 
to the town to get the potion that the doctor had 
ordered from Reeb, the apothecary; the grand- 
mother grew calmer; she coughed less; we talked 
to her only of peace, tranquility, and the return of 
Jean Merlin, and the poor woman was slowly re- 
covering ; when, one morning, two Prussian gens- 
d’armes stopped at the inn; as those people usu- 
ally passed on without halting, it surprised me, 
and, a few moments later, Father Ykel’s daughter 
came to tell me to go down stairs, that some one 
was asking for me. 

When I went down, I found those two tall fel- 
lows, with jack-boots, standing in the middle of 
the room; their helmets almost touched the ceil- 
ing. They asked me if they were speaking to the 
person known as Frederick, formerly the brigadier 
forester of T6menthal. I answered in the affirm- 
ative ; and one of them, taking off his big gloves, 
in order to fumble in his knapsack, gave me a let- 
ter, which I read at once. 

It was an order from the commander of Phals 
bourg to leave the country within twenty-four 
hours ! 

You understand, George, what an impression 

170 


Brigadier Frederick 


that made on me; I turned pale and asked what 
could have drawn upon me so terrible a sentence. 

“That is no affair of ours,” answered one of 
the gens-d’armes. ‘Try to obey, or we will have 
to take other measures.” 

Thereupon they mounted their horses again 
and rode off; and Father Ykel, alone with me, 
seeing me cast down and overwhelmed by such an 
abomination, not knowing himself what to say, or 
to think, cried out : 

“In the name of Heaven, Frederick, what 
have you been doing? You are not a man of 
any importance, and, in our little village, I should 
have thought they would have forgotten you 
long ago!” 

I made no reply; I remembered nothing; I 
thought only of the grief of my daughter and of 
the poor old grandmother when they learned of 
this new misfortune. 

However, at last I remembered my imprudent 
words at the Café Vacheron, the day of my dis- 
pute with Toubac; and Father Ykel at the first 
word told me that it all came from that ; that Tou- 
bac had certainly denounced me; that there was 
only one thing left for me to do, and that was to 
go at once to the commander and beg him to grant 
me a little time, in consideration of the grand- 

171 


Brigadier Frederick 


mother, over eighty years of age, seriously ill, and 
who would certainly die on the road. He also 
sent for the schoolmaster, and gave me, as Mayor 
of the parish, a regular attestation concerning my 
good qualities, my excellent antecedents, the un- 
happy position of our family ; in short, he said all 
the most touching and the truest things that could 
be said on such an occasion. He also recom- 
mended me to go to M. Simperlin, too, and get a 
certificate of illness, to confirm his attestation, 
thinking that thus the commander would be 
touched and would wait till the poor old woman 
was well enough to travel. 

In my trouble, seeing nothing else to do, I set 
out. Marie-Rose knew nothing of it, nor the 
grandmother, either; I had not the courage to 
announce the blow that was threatening us. To 
set out alone, to fly far away from those savages, 
who coolly plunged us into all sorts of miseries, 
would have been nothing to me; but the others! 
Ah! I dared not think of it! 

Before noon I was at Phalsbourg, in a fright- 
ful state of wretchedness; all the misfortunes that 
crushed us rose before my eyes. 

I saw the doctor, who declared simply in his 
certificate that the invalid, who was old, weak, 
and, moreover, entirely without resources, could 

172 


Brigadier Frederick 


not stand a journey, even of two hours, without 
dying. 

“There,” said he, giving me the paper, “that is 
the exact truth. I might add that your departure 
will kill her also, but that would be nothing to the 
commander ; if this does not touch his heart, the 
rest would be useless also.” | 

I went then to the commander's quarters, which 
were in the old government house, in the Rue du 
Collége. The humiliation of addressing supplica- 
tions to rascals whom I detested was not the least 
of my sorrows; that I, an old French forester, an 
old servant of the state, gray-headed and on the 
point of retiring on a pension, should stoop to im- 
plore compassion from enemies as hard-hearted, as 
proud of their victories, gained by sheer force of 
numbers, as they were! However, for the grand- 
mother, for the widow of old Burat, I could bear 
everything. 

A tall rogue, in uniform, and with red whiskers, 
made me wait a long time in the vestibule; they 
were at breakfast, and only about one o'clock was 
I allowed to go up stairs. Up there another sen- 
tinel stopped me, and then, having received per- 
mission to enter a rather large room, opening on 
the garden of the Arsenal, I knocked at the com- 
mander’s door, who told me to come in. I sawa 


173 


Brigadier Frederick 


large, red-faced man, who was walking to and fro, 
smoothing down the sleeves of his uniform and 
puffing out his cheeks in an ill-natured way. I 
told him humbly of my position, and gave him 
my certificates; which he did not even take the 
trouble to read, but flung them on the table. 
“That has nothing at all to do with it,” said 
he sharply; ‘‘you are described as a dangerous 
person, a determined enemy of the Germans. You 
prevented your men from entering our service; 
your son-in-law has gone to join the bandits of 
Gambetta. You boasted openly in a restaurant 
of having refused the offers of the Oberférster of 
Zornstadt ; that is four times more than is neces- 
sary to deserve being turned out of doors.” 
I spoke of the grandmother's condition. 
**Well! leave her in her bed,” said he; “the 
order of the Kvezssdirector is for you alone.” 
Then, without listening to me any longer, he 
went into a side room, calling a servant, and closed 
the door behind him. I went down stairs again, 
feeling utterly crushed; my last hope was gone; I 
had no other resource; I had to leave; I had to 
announce this bad news to my daughter, to the 
grandmother! I knew what would be the result 
of it; and, with hanging head, I went through 
that German doorway, the bridge, the sentinels, 
174 


Brigadier Frederick 


without seeing anything. On the glacis, at Bie- 
chelberg, all along the road through the woods 
and through the valley, I was as if mad with 
despair ; I talked to myself, I cried out, looking 
at the trees and raising my hand toward heaven. 

“Now the curse is upon us! Now pity, the 
disgrace of crime, the remorse of conscience are 
abolished! Nothing is left now but strength. 
Let them exterminate us, let them cut our 
throats! Let the rascals strangle the old woman 
in her bed; let them hang my daughter before 
the door, and as for me, let them chop me into 
pieces! That would be better. That would be 
less barbarous than to tear us from each other’s 
arms; to force the son to abandon his mother on 
her death-bed !” 

And I continued on my road, stumbling along. 
The forests, the ravines, the rocks seemed to me 
full of those old brigands, of those Pandoms of 
whom I had heard tell in my childhood; I thought 
I heard them singing round their fires, as they. 
shared the plunder; all the old miseries of the 
time before the great revolution came back to 
me. The distant trumpet of the Prussians in 
the city that sounded its three wild notes to the 
echoes, seemed to me to arouse those old villains 
who had been reduced to dust centuries before. 

175 


Brigadier Frederick 


XXXII 


ALL at once the sight of the cottages of 
Graufthal aroused me from my dreams; I shivered 
at the thought that the moment was come to 
speak, to tell my daughter and the grandmother 
that I was banished, driven away from the coun- 
try. It seemed to me like a sentence of death 
that I myself was about to pronounce against 
those whom I loved best in the world. I slack- 
ened my steps so as not to arrive too quickly, 
when, raising my eyes, after having passed the 
first houses, I saw Marie-Rose waiting in the dark 
little entry of the inn; my first glance at her told 
me that she knew all. 

‘Well, father ?” said she in a low voice, as she 
stood on the threshold. 

“Well,” I answered, trying to be calm, “I 
must go. But you two can stay—they have 
granted you permission to stay.” 

At the same time I heard the grandmother 
moaning up stairs in her bed. Katel, that morn- 
ing, directly after I set out, had gone up stairs to 
tell my daughter the bad news; the poor old 
woman had heard all. The news had already 
spread through the village; the people round us 
were listening; and, seeing that the blow had 

176 


Brigadier Frederick 


fallen, I told all who wished to hear how the 
Prussian commander had received me. The 
crowd of neighbours listened to me without a 
word ; all were afraid of sharing my fate. The 
grandmother had heard my voice, and she called 
me : 

“Frederick ! Frederick !” 

When I heard her voice, a cold perspiration 
broke out on my face. I went up stairs, an- 
swering : 

“Flere I am, grandmother, here lam! Don't 
cry so! It will not last long. I will come back! 
Now they distrust me. They are wrong, grand- 
mother ; but the others are the strongest !” 

“Ah!” she cried, ‘you are going away, Fred- 
erick—you are going away like poor Jean. I 
knew that he had gone away to fight. I knew 
all. I will never see either of you again.” 

“Why not, grandmother, why not? In a few 
weeks I will be allowed to come back, and Jean 
will come back, too, after the war!” 

“T will never see you again!” she cried. 

And her sobs grew louder. The people, curi- 
ous, and even cruel in their curiosity, had come 
up stairs one after another; our three little rooms 
were filled with them ; they held their breath, they 
had left their sado¢s at the foot of the stairs; they 

12 177 


Brigadier Frederick 


wanted to see and hear everything; but then, 
seeing the poor old woman in the shadow of her 
great gray curtains, sobbing and holding out her 
arms to me, almost all hastened to go down stairs 
again and to return to their homes. No one was 
left but big Starck, Father Ykel, and his daughter, 
Katel. 

‘‘Grandmother Anne,” said Father Ykel, ‘‘ don’t 
get such ideas into your head. Frederick is right. 
You must be reasonable. When peace is declared 
all will be right again. You are eighty-three years 
old and I am nearly seventy. What does that 
matter? I hope to see again Jean, Father Fred- 
erick, and all those who are gone.” 

‘* Ah!” said she, “I have suffered too much; 

now it is all over!” 

} And till night she did nothing but cry. 
Marie-Rose, always courageous, opened the cup- 
boards and packed up my bundle, for I had no 
time to lose ; the next day I must be on my road. 
She took out my clothes and my best shirts and 
put them on the table, asking me, in a low voice, 
while the grandmother continued to cry: 

“You will take this, father? And that?” 

I answered : | 

‘‘Do as you think best, my daughter. I have 
no sense left to think of anything with. Only 

178 


Brigadier Frederick 


put my uniform in the bundle—that is the prin- 
cipal thing.” 

Ykel, knowing that we were pressed for time, 
told us not to worry about the supper, that we 
should sup with them. We accepted. 

That evening, George, we spoke little at table. 
Katel was up stairs with the grandmother. And 
when night came, as my bundle was packed, we 
went to bed early. | 

You may readily believe that I slept but little. 
The moans of the grandmother, and then my 
reflections, the uncertainty as to my destination, 
the small amount of money that I could take 
with me, for I had to leave enough to live on at 
home—all these things kept me awake in spite of 
my fatigue and the grief that was weighing me 
down. And all through that long night I asked 
myself where I should go, what I should do, what 
road I should take, to whom I should address my- 
self in order to make my living? Turning these 
ideas over a hundred times in my head, I at last 
remembered my former chief of the guards, M. 
d’Arence, one of the best men I had ever known, 
who had always liked me, and even protected me 
during the time that I was under his orders as a 
simple guard many years before; I remembered 
that people said that he had retired to Saint Dié, 

179 


Brigadier Frederick 


and I hoped, if I had the good luck to find him 
yet alive, that he would receive me well and - 
would help me a little in my misfortune. This 
idea occurred to me towards morning; I thought 
it a good one, and I fell asleep for an hour or two. 
But at daybreak I was up. The terrible moment 
was approaching ; I was scarcely out of bed, the 
grandmother heard me and called to me. Marie- | 
Rose was also up; she had prepared our farewell 
breakfast ; Ykel had sent up a bottle of wine. 

Having dressed myself, I went into the grand- 
mother’s room, trying to keep up my spirits, but 
knowing that I would never see her again. 

She seemed calmer, and, calling me to her, she 
threw her arms round my neck, saying : 

“My son, for you have been my son—a good 
son to me—my son Frederick, I bless you! I © 
wish you all the happiness that you deserve. Ah! 
wishes are not worth much, nor the blessings of 
poor people either. Without that, dear Frederick, 
you would not have been so unhappy.” 

She wept, and I could not restrain my tears. 
Marie-Rose, standing at the foot of the bed, 
sobbed silently. 

And as the grandmother still held me, I said: 

‘See here, grandmother, your benediction and 
your kind words do me as much good as if you 

180 


Brigadier Frederick 


could give me all the riches of the world; it is 
my consolation to think that I will see you soon 
again.” 

‘Perhaps we will meet again in heaven,” said 
she; “ but here on this earth I must say farewell. 
Farewell, Frederick, farewell.” 

She held me tightly embraced, kissing me with 
her trembling lips; and then, having released me 
and turned away her head, she held my hand for 
a minute, and, beginning to sob again, she repeated, 
in a low voice: “ Farewell!” 

I left the room; my strength failed me. In 
the side room I took a glass of wine and I put 
a piece of bread in my pocket; Marie-Rose was 
with me; I beckoned her to come down stairs 
softly, so that the grandmother should not hear 
our sobs at the moment of parting. 

We went silently down stairs into the large 
lower room, where Father Ykel awaited us with 
some other friends; Starck, who had helped us 
to move from the forest house, Hulot, and some 
other good people. 

We bade each other farewell ; then in the entry 
I kissed Marie-Rose, as an unhappy father kisses 
his child, and in that kiss I wished her everything 
that a man can wish to the being whom he loves 
better than his life, and whom he esteems as one 

181 


Brigadier Frederick 


esteems virtue, courage, and goodness. And then, 
with my bundle slung on the end of a stick, I 
went away without turning my head. 


XXXII 


THE path of exile is long, George, and the 
first steps that one takes are painful. He who 
said that we do not drag with us our country fast- 
ened to the soles of our shoes, was learned in 
human suffering. 

And when you leave behind you your child; 
when you seem to hear as you walk along the 
grandmother's voice saying farewell; when from 
the top of the mountain that sheltered you from 
the wind and covered you with its shadow, at the 
last turn of the path, before the descent, you turn 
and look at your valley, your cottage, your orchard, 
thinking, ‘You will never see them more!” 
then, George, it seems as if the earth holds you 
back, as if the trees were extending their arms 
towards you, as if the child was weeping in the 
distance, as if the grandmother was callings you 
back in the name of God! 

Yes, I felt all that on the hill of Berlingen, 
and I shudder yet when I think of it. And to 

182 


Brigadier Frederick 


think that worms like us dare to inflict such suffer- 
ings on their fellow-creatures! May the Almighty 
have mercy upon them, for the hour of justice 
will surely come. 

I tore myself away and continued my jour- 
ney. I went away; I descended the hill with 
bent back, and the dear country gradually van- 
ished into the distance. Oh! how I suffered, and 
how many distant thoughts came back to me! 
The forests, the firs, the old saw-mills passed 
away. 

I was approaching Schénbourg, and I began to 
descend the second hill, lost in my reveries and 
my despair, when all at once a man with his gun 
slung over his shoulder emerged from the forest 
about a hundred yards in front of me, looking 
towards me. This sight awoke me from my sad 
thoughts; I raised my eyes. It was Hepp, the old 
brigadier, whom the Prussians had won over, and 
who was the only man among us that had entered 
their service. 

‘“ Hillo!” said he, in amazement, “it is you, 
Father Frederick !” 

“Ves,” I answered, ‘it is I.” 

“But where are you going so early in the 
morning with your bundle on your shoulder ?” 

“T am going where God wills. The Germans 

183 


Brigadier Frederick 


have turned me out. Iam going to earn my liv- 
ing elsewhere.” | 

He turned very pale. I had stopped for a 
minute to breathe. 

“How!” said he, “they are turning you out 
of doors at your age—you, an old forester, an hon- 
est man, who never did harm to any one ?” 

“Yes; they do not want me in this country 
any longer. They have given me twenty-four 
hours in which to quit old Alsace, and I am on 
my way.” 

“And Marie-Rose and the grandmother ?” 

“They are at Graufthal, at Ykel’s. The grand- 
mother is dying. The others will bury her.” 

Hepp, with drooping head and eyes cast down, 
lifted up his hands, saying: ‘‘ What a pity! what 
a pity !” 

I made no reply, and wiped my face, which 
was covered with perspiration. After a moment’s 
pause, without looking at me, he said: 

“Ah! if I had been alone with my wife! But 
I have six children. I am their father. I could 
not let them die of hunger. You had a little 
money laid aside. I had not a soz.” 

Then, seeing this man with a good situation— 
for he was a German brigadier forester—seeing 
this man making excuses to a poor, wretched exile 

184 


Brigadier Frederick 


like me, I did not know any more than he did 
what to answer, and I said: 

“That is the way of the world. Every one 
has his burden to bear. Well! well! good-bye till 
I see you again.” 

He wanted to shake hands with me, but I 
looked another way, and continued my journey, 
thinking : 

“That man, Frederick, is even more unhappy 
than you; his grief is terrible; he has sold his 
conscience to the Prussians for a piece of black 
bread ; at least you can look every one in the face ; 
you can say, in spite of your misery, ‘I am an 
honest man,’ and he does not dare to look at an 
old comrade ; he blushes, he hangs his head. The 
others have profited by the fact of his having six 
children to buy him.” 

And, thinking of that, I grew a little more 
courageous, knowing that I had done well, in spite 
of everything, and that in Hepp’s place I would 
have hanged myself long ago in some corner of 
the wood. That comforted me a little. What 
would you have? One is always glad to have 
done the best thing, even when one had nothing 
to choose between but the greatest of misfortunes, 

Then those thoughts vanished, too ; others took 
their place. I must tell you that in all the villages, 
Vol. 11—N 185 


Brigadier Frederick 


and even in the smallest hamlets I passed through, 
the poor people, seeing me travelling at my age, 
with my bundle slung over my shoulder, received 
me kindly ; they knew that I was one of those 
who were being sent away from the country be- 
cause they loved France ; the women standing be- 
fore their doors with their children in their arms 
said to me, with emotion, ‘‘God guide you!” 

In the little taverns, where I halted from time 
to time to recruit my strength, at Lutzelbourg, at 
Dabo, at Viche, they would not receive any money 
from me. As soon as I had said, “I am an old 
brigadier forester; the Germans have exiled me 
because I would not enter their service,” I had the 
respect of everybody. 

Naturally, also, I did not accept the kind offers 
they made me; I paid my way, for at this time of 
forced requisitions no one had anything too much. 

The whole country sympathized with the re- 
public, and the nearer I got towards the Vosges 
the more they spoke of Garibaldi, of Gambetta, 
of Chanzy, of Faidherbe ; but also the requisitions 
were larger and the villages overrun with landwehr. 

At Schirmeck, where I arrived the same day, 
about eight o’clock in the evening, I saw, on en- 
tering the inn, a Feldwebel, a schoolmaster, and 
a commissioner, who were drinking and smoking 

186 


Brigadier Frederick 


among a quantity of their people, who were seated 
at tables like themselves. 

They all turned round and stared at me, while 
I asked a lodging for the night. | 

The commissioner ordered me to show him 
my papers; he examined them minutely, the sig- 
natures and the stamps; then he said to me: 

“You are all right at present, but by daybreak 
to-morrow you must be on your way.” 

After that the innkeeper ventured to serve me 
with food and drink; and, as the inn was filled 
with the German officials, they took me to the 
barn, where I fell asleep on a heap of straw. It 
was freezing outside, but the barn was near the 
stable ; it was warm there ; I slept well because of 
my fatigue. Slumber, George, is the consolation 
of the wretched ; if I had to speak of the good- 
ness of God, I would say that every day He calls 
us to Him for a few hours to make us forget our 
misfortunes. 


XXXIV 


THE next day a sort of calm had replaced my 
dejection; I went away more resolute, hastening 
across the plain to reach Rothau. I began to 
think of Jean Merlin. Perhaps he had followed 

187 


Brigadier Frederick 


the same route as I, for it was the shortest. How 
glad I would be if I could hear some news of him 
on my way, to send to Marie-Rose and the grand- 
mother; what a consolation it would be in our 
misfortune! But I must not hope for it, so many 
others during the last three months had climbed 
from Rothau to Provenchéres, French and Ger- 
mans, strangers whom no one could have remem- 
bered. 

Nevertheless, I thought of it. And as I 
walked swiftly along I admired the beautiful 
forests of this mountainous country, the immense 
fir trees that bordered the road and recalled to 
me those of Falberg, near Saverne. The sight of 
them touched me; it was like old comrades who 
escort you for several hours on your journey 
before saying a last farewell. 

At last the rapid motion, the fresh, bracing air 
of the mountains, the kind welcome from the good 
people, the hope of finding M. d’Arence, my old 
chief of the guard, and, above all, the wish not to 
let myself be discouraged, when my poor daughter 
and the grandmother still had need of me, all that 
revived me, and I said to myself at each step I 
took : 

“Courage, Frederick! The French are not 


yet all dead; perhaps after a while the happy days 
188 


Brigadier Frederick | 


will return. Those who despair are lost ; the poor 
little birds that the winter drives away from their 
nests and who are obliged to go far away to seek 
the seeds and the insects upon which they live 
suffer also; but the spring brings them back 
again. That ought to be an example to you. 
Another effort, and you will reach the top; from 
Provenchéres you will only have to go down 
hill.” 

Thus encouraging myself climbing on and per- 
severing, as weary as I was, I reached Provenchéres 
about the middle of the day, and made a short 
halt. I drank a glass of good wine at the inn of 
the Two Keys, and there I learned that M. d’Arence 
was still at St. Dié, the inspector of the woods 
and waters, and that he had even commanded the 
national guard during the late events. This news 
gave me great pleasure ; I left there full of hope; 
and that evening having reached St. Marguerite, 
at the bottom of the valley, I had only to follow 
the highway till I reached the city, where I arrived 
so fatigued that I could scarcely stand. 

I halted at the first little tavern in the Rue du 
Faubourg St. Martin, and I was fortunate enough 
to get a bed there, in which I slept still better 
than in my barn at Schirmeck. The Prussian 
trumpet awoke me early in the morning ; one of 

189 


Brigadier Frederick 


their regiments was occupying the city; the 
colonel was quartered in the episcopal palace, the 
other officers and the soldiers were lodged with 
the inhabitants ; and the requisitions of hay, straw, 
meat, flour, brandy, tobacco, etc., were going on 
as briskly as at other places. I took a clean shirt 
out of my bundle, and put on my uniform, remem- 
bering that M. d’Arence had always paid great 
attention to the appearance of his men. Char- 
acter does not change: one is at fifty years of age 
exactly as one was at twenty. Then I went down 
into the inn parlour, and inquired for the house of 
the inspector of the forest. A good old woman, 
Mother Ory, who kept the inn, told me that he 
lived at the corner of the large bridge, to the left, 
as you went towards the railway station. I went 
there at once. 

It was a clear cold day; the principal street, 
which runs from the railway station to the cathe- 
dral, was white with snow, and the mountains 
round the valley also. Some German soldiers, in 
their earth-coloured overcoats and flat caps, were 
taking away at a distance, before the mayors 
office, a cartload of provisions ; two or three serv- 
ant maids were filling their buckets at the pretty 
fountain of La Muerthe. There was nothing else 
to see, for all the people kept in doors. 

190 


Brigadier Frederick 


Having reached the house of the inspector, 
and after having paused for a moment to reflect, 
I was going in, when a tall, handsome man in 
hussar pantaloons, a tight-fitting braided overcoat, 
a green cap with silver lace, set a little on one 
side, began to descend the stair-case. It was M. 
d’Arence, as erect as ever, with his beard as 
brown and his colour as fresh as it was at thirty 
years of age. I recognised him at once. Except 
for his gray head, he was not changed at all; but 
he did not recognise me at first ; and it was only 
when I reminded him of this old guard, Fred- 
erick, that he cried : 

“What, is it you, my poor Frederick? De- 
cidedly we are no longer young.” 

No, I was no longer young, and these last few 
months had aged me still more, I know. How- 
ever, he was very glad to see me all the same. 

“Let us go up stairs,” he said; ‘we can talk 
more at our ease.” 

So we went up stairs. He took me into a 
large dark office, the blinds of which were closed, 
then into his private room, where a good fire was 
sparkling in a large porcelain stove; and, having 
told me to take a chair, we talked for a long time 
about our country. I told him of all our wretch- 
edness since the arrival of the Germans; he 

I9I 


Brigadier Frederick 


listened to me with compressed lips, his elbow on 
the edge of the desk, and he finally said : 

“Yes, it is terrible! So many honest people 
sacrificed to the selfishness of a few wretches! 
‘We are expiating our faults terribly; but the 
Germans’ turn will come. In the meantime, that 
is not the question; you must be in straitened 
circumstances ; you are doubtless at the end of 
your funds ?” 

Of course I told him the truth; I said that f 
had to leave enough to live on at home, and that 
I was trying to get work. 

Then he quietly opened a drawer, saying that 
I, like the other brigadiers of Alsace, had a right 
to my quarter’s pay, that he would advance it to 
me, and that I could repay him later. 

I need not tell you my satisfaction at receiving 
this money at a time when IJ needed it so much; 
it touched me so that my eyes filled with tears ~ 
and I did not know how to thank him. 

He saw by my face what I thought, and, as I 
tried to utter a few words of thanks, he said: 

“All right, all right, Frederick. Don’t let us 
speak of that. You are an honest man, a servant 
of the state. I am glad to be able to help you.” 

But what pleased me most of all was that, 
when I was about to go, he asked me if several 


192 


Brigadier Frederick 


of our guards had not joined the army of the 
Vosges. 

Then I instantly thought of Jean; I thought 
that perhaps he had news of him. In spite of 
that, I first cited big Kern and Donadieu, and 
then only Jean Merlin, who had left last, and who 
had doubtless followed the same road as I had 
done, by Schirmeck and Rothau. 

“A big, solid fellow,” said he, “with brown 
mustaches ; formerly in the cavalry, was he not ?” 

“Yes, sir,” I answered, in great excitement; — 
“that is my son-in-law.” 

“Well,” said he, “that honest fellow passed 
this way; I gave him the means and the neces- 
sary indications to reach Tours. If you are un- 
easy about him, you may be comforted ; he is all 
right ; he is at his post.” 

We had then reached the foot of the stairs; 
at the door M. d’Arence shook hands with me; 
then he went away, crossing the bridge, and I 
went towards the railway station, feeling happier 
than I can tell you. 


- 193 


Brigadier Frederick 


XXXV 


I ANTICIPATED Marie-Rose’s joy, and I seemed 
to hear the poor grandmother thank God when 
she heard the good news; it seemed to me that 
our greatest misfortune had passed away, that the 
sun was beginning to shine through the clouds 
for us. I walked along with my head full of 
happy thoughts; and when I entered the parlour 
of the Golden Lion, Mother Ory looked at me, 
saying : 

“Ah! my Agile man, you have had some goed 
luck befall you.” 

“Yes,” I answered, laughing, ‘I am not the 
same man I was this morning and yesterday. 
Great misfortunes don’t always stick to one per- 
son all the time!” 

And I told her what had occurred. She 
looked at me ‘good-humouredly; but when I 
asked her to give me some paper, so that I could 
write all the good news to Graufthal, she said, 
clasping her hands : 

“What are you thinking : about? To write 
that your son-in-law is with the army, that he re- 
ceived aid from M. d’Arence to speed him on his 
way! Why, M. d’Arence would be arrested to- 
morrow, and you, too, and your daughter! Don't 

194 


Brigadier Frederick 


you know that the Germans open all the letters ; 
that it is their best means of spying, and that they 
seek every opportunity to levy new taxes on the 
city? For such a letter they would require still 
more requisitions. Beware of such fearful im- 
prudence.” 

Then, seeing the justice of her remarks, I sud- 
denly lost all my gaiety; I had scarcely spirit 
enough left to write to Marie-Rose that I had 
arrived safe and well and that I had received some 
help from my former chief. I thought at every 
word that I had said too much; I was afraid that 
a dot, a comma, would serve as a pretext to the 
scoundrels to intercept my letter and to drive me 
farther away. ' 

Ah! how sad it was not to be able to send 
even a word of hope to those one loves—above 
all, at such a cruel moment! And how barbarous 
they must have been to charge against the father 
as a crime the consoling words that he sent to his 
child, the good news that a son sends to his dying 
mother! But that is what we have seen. 

Only the letters announcing the death of one’s 
relatives, or some new disaster to our country, ar- 
rived ; or else lies—news of victories invented by 
the enemy, and that was followed the next day by 
the announcement of a defeat, 

195 


Brigadier Frederick 


From that day, not daring to write what I 
knew, and receiving no news from home, I lived 
a melancholy life. 

Imagine, George, a man of my age, alone 
among strangers, in a little room at an inn, look- 
ing for hours together at the snow whirling against 
the window-panes, listening to the noises outside, 
a passing cart, a company of Prussians who were 
going their rounds, the barking of a dog, people 
quarrelling ; without any amusement but his medi- 
tations and his recollections. 

“What are they about yonder? Does the 
grandmother still live? And, Marie-Rose—what 
has become of her? And Jean, and all the others?” 
Always this weight on my heart ! 

‘‘No letters have come; so much the better. 
If anything had happened, Marie-Rose would have 
written. She does not write ; so much the worse. 
Perhaps she, too, is ill!” 

And so it went on from morning till night. 
Sometimes, when I heard the hum of voices down 
stairs in the parlour, I would go down, to hear the 
news of the war. Hope, that great lie which lasts 
all one’s life, is so rooted in our souls that we cling 
to it till the end. 

So I went down stairs, and there, around the 
tables, by the stove, were all kinds of people— 

196 


Brigadier Frederick 


merchants, peasants, wagoners—talking of fights 
in the north, the east ; of pillages, of military exe- 
cutions, of fires, of forced contributions, of host- 
ages, and I know not what all! 

Paris was still defending herself ; but near the 
Loire our young troops had been forced to fall 
back; the Germans were too many for them! 
They were arriving by all the railroads; and then 
our arms and ammunition were giving out. This 
young army, assembled in haste, without a head, 
without discipline, without arms, without pro- 
visions, was forced to keep up against this terrible 
war, and the fearful weight of numbers could not 
fail to crush it after a while. 

That is what the Swiss and Belgian news- 
papers said, that the travellers sometimes left be- 
hind them. 

The bombardment of Belfort continued. The 
weather was fearful; snow and hard frosts fol- 
lowed each other in quick succession. One could 
almost say that the Almighty was against us. 

For my part, George, I must confess that, 
after so many misfortunes, I was discouraged ; 
the least rumour made me uneasy ; I was al- 
ways afraid of hearing of fresh disasters; and 
sometimes, too, my indignation made me wish 
to go, in spite of my old legs, and get my- 

197 


Brigadier Frederick 


self killed, no matter where, so as to be done 
with it. 

Ennuz and discouragement had got the upper 
hand of me, when I received a letter from my 
daughter. 

The grandmother was dead! Marie-Rose was 
coming to join me at St. Dié. She told me to 
hire a small apartment, as she was going to bring 
a little furniture, some linen, and some bedding, 
and that she was going to sell the rest at Graufthal 
before her departure. 

She said also that Starck had offered to bring 
her on his cart, through Sarrebourg, Lorquin, 
Raon |’Etape; that the journey would probably 
last fully three days, but that we would meet 
again at the end of the week. 

So the poor grandmother had ceased to suffer ; 
she lay beside her daughter, Catherine, and Father 
Burat, whom I had loved so much! I said to 
myself that they were all luckier than I ; that they 
slept among their ancestors, in the shadow of our 
mountains. 

The thought of seeing my daughter once more 
did me good. [I said to myself that we would be 
no longer alone ; that we could live without much 
expense till the end of the invasion; and then, 
when Jean returned, when he had found a situa- 


198 


Brigadier Frederick 


tion, we would build up our nest again in some 
forest ; that I would have my pension,.and that, 
in spite of all our misfortunes, I would end my 
days in peace and quietness, among my grand- 
children. 

That appeared very natural to me. I repeated 
to myself that God is good, and that all would 
soon be in order again. 

Marie-Rose arrived on the fifth of January, 
1871. 


XXXVI 


I HAD rented, for twelve francs a month, two 
- small rooms and a kitchen on the second floor of 
the house next door to the Golden Lion; it be- 
longed to M. Michel, a gardener, a very good 
man, who afterward rendered us great services. 

It was very cold that day. Marie-Rose had 
written that she was coming, but without saying 
whether in the morning or the evening; so I was 
obliged to wait. 

About noon Starck’s cart appeared at the end 
of the street, covered with furniture and bedding. 

Marie-Rose was on the vehicle, wrapped in a 
large cape of her mother’s; the tall coalman was 
walking in front, holding his horses by the bridle. 

199 


Brigadier Frederick 


I went down stairs and ran to meet them. I 
embraced Starck, who had stopped, then my 
daughter, saying to her, in a whisper : 

“T have heard news of Jean. He passed 
through St. Dié. M. d’Arence gave him the 
means to cross the Prussian lines and join the 
Army of the Loire.” | 

She did not answer, but as I spoke, I felt her 
bosom heave and her arms tighten round me with 
extraordinary strength. 

They went on again; a hundred yards farther 
we were before our lodgings. Starck took his 
horses to the stable of the Golden Lion. Marie- 
Rose went into the large parlour of the inn, and 
good Mother Ory made her take at once a cup of 
broth, to warm her, for she was very cold. 

That same day Starck and I took up the furni- 
ture. At four o'clock all was ready. We madea 
fire in the stove. Marie-Rose was so worn out 
that we had almost to carry her up stairs. 

I had noticed when I first saw her her extreme 
pallor and sparkling eyes; it astonished me; but 
I attributed the change to the long watches, the 
grief, the anxiety, and, above all, to the fatigue of 
a three days’ journey in an open wagon, and in 
such terribly cold weather. Was it not natural 
after such suffering? I knew her to be strong; 

200 


Brigadier Frederick 


since her childhood she had never been ill; I said 
to myself that she would get over that in time, 
and that with a little care and perfect rest she 
would soon regain her rosy cheeks. 

Once up stairs, in front of the sparkling little 
fire, seeing the neat room, the old wardrobe at the 
back, the old pictures from the forest house hung 
on the wall, and our old clock ticking away in the 
right-hand corner behind the door, Marie-Rose 
seemed satisfied, and said to me: 

“We will be very comfortable here, father ; we 
will keep quiet, and the Germans will not drive us 
farther away. If only Jean comes back soon, we 
will live in peace.” | 

Her voice was hoarse. She also wanted to see 
the kitchen, which opened on the court ; the day- 
light coming from over the roofs made this place 
rather dark ; but she thought everything was very 
nice. 

As we had not any provisions yet, I sent to the 
inn for our dinner and two bottles of wine. 

Starck would take nothing but the expenses 
on the road. He said that at this season there 
was nothing to do in the forest, and that he might 
as well have come as to have left his horses in the 
stable ; but he could not refuse a good dinner, and 


then, too, he liked a good glass of wine. 
Vol. 11—O 201 


Brigadier Frederick 


Then, at table, Marie-Rose told me all the de- 
tails of the grandmother's death ; how she had ex- 
pired, after having cried for three days and three 
nights, murmuring in her dreams: “ Burat! Fred- 
erick! The Germans! Frederick, do not desert 
me! Take me with you!” At last the good God 
took her to Himself, and half Graufthal followed 
her bier through the snow to Désenheim, to bury 
her with her own people. 

In telling her sad tale, Marie-Rose could not 
restrain her tears, and from time to time she 
stopped to cough; so I told her that I had heard 
enough, and that I did not care to know any more. 

And when dinner was over, I thanked Starck 
for the services he had rendered us. I told him 
that in misfortune we learn to know our true 
friends, and other just things, which pleased him, 
because he deserved them. About six o'clock he 
went away again, in spite of all that I could say 
to persuade him to remain. I went with him to 
the end of the street, asking him to thank Father 
Ykel and his daughter for all that they had done 
for us, and if he went to Felsberg to tell Mother 
Margredel how we were getting along, and, above 
all, to ask her to send us all news of Jean that she 
might receive. He promised, and we separated. 

I went back, feeling very thoughtful; glad to 

202 


Brigadier Frederick 


see my child once more, but uneasy about the ter- 
rible cold that kept her from speaking. However, 
I had no serious fears, as I told you, George. 
When one has always seen people in good health 
one knows very well that such little ailments do. 
not signify anything. 

There was still seven or eight weeks of winter 
to pass through. In the month of March the sun 
is already warm, the spring is coming; in April, 
sheltered as we were by the great hill of Saint 
Martin, we would soon see the gardens and the 
fields grow green again in the shelter of the forest. 
We had also two large boxes of climbing plants 
to place on our window-sills, which I pictured to 
myself beforehand extending over our window- 
panes, and that would remind us a little of the 
forest house. 

All these things seemed good to me, and, in 
my emotion at seeing Marie-Rose again, I looked 
on the bright side of the future; I wanted to live 
as much to ourselves as we could while waiting for 
Jean’s return, and to worry ourselves about the 
war as little as possible, although that is very hard 
to do when the fate of one’s fatherland is in 
question; yes, very hard. I promised myself to 
tell my daughter nothing but pleasant things, such 
as tidings of our victories, if we were so fortunate 

203 


Brigadier Frederick 


as to gain any, and, above all, to hide from her my 
uneasiness about Jean, whose long silence often 
gave me gloomy thoughts. 

In the midst of these meditations I returned 
home. Night had come. Marie-Rose was wait- 
ing for me beside the lamp; she threw herself into 
my arms, murmuring: 

‘“Ah! father, what happiness it is for us to be 
together once more!” 

“Yes, yes, my child,” I answered, ‘and others 
who are now far away will return also. We must 
have a little patience still. We have suffered too 
much and too unjustly for that to last forever. 
You are not very well now; the journey has 
fatigued you; but it will be nothing. Go sleep, 
dear child, and rest yourself.” 

She went to her room, and I retired to bed, 
thanking God for having given me back my 
daughter. 


XXXVII 


Tuus, George, after the loss of my situation 
and my property, earned by thirty years of labour, 
economy and faithful services; after the loss of 
our dear country, of our old parents and our 
friends, I had still one consolation: my daughter 

204 


Brigadier Frederick 


still remained to me, my good, courageous child, 
who smiled at me in spite of her anxiety, her grief, 
and her sufferings when she saw me too much cast 
_down. 

That is what overwhelms me when I think of 
it; I always reproach myself for having allowed 
her to see my grief, and for not having been able 
to keep down my anger against those who had re- 
duced us to such a condition. It is easy to put a 
good face on the matter when you have everything 
you want ; in need and in a strange country it isa 
different thing. 

We lived as economically as possible. Marie- 
Rose looked after our little household, and I often 
sat for hours before the window, thinking of all 
that had occurred during the last few months, of 
the abominable order that had driven me from my 
country; I suddenly grew indignant, and raised 
my arms to Heaven, uttering a wild cry. 

Marie-Rose was more calm; our humiliation, 
our misery, and the national disasters hurt her as 
much and perhaps more than me, but she hid it 
from me. Only what she could not hide from me 
was that wretched cold, which gave me much 
anxiety. Far from improving as I had hoped, it 
grew worse—it seemed to me to get worse every 
day. At night, above all, when I heard through 

205 


Brigadier Frederick | 


the deep silence that dry, hacking cough, that 
seemed to tear her chest asunder, I sat up in bed 
and listened, filled with terror. 

Sometimes, however, this horrible cold seemed 
to get better, Marie-Rose would sleep soundly, 
and then I regained my courage; and thinking of 
the innumerable misfortunes that were extended 
over France, the great famine at Paris, the battle- 
fields covered with corpses, the ambulances crowd- 
ed with wounded, the conflagrations, the requisi- 
tions, the pillages, I said to myself that we had 
still a little fire to warm us, a little bread to nour- 
ish us. And then, so many strange things hap- 
pened during the wars! Had we not formerly 
conquered all Europe, which did not prevent us 
. from being vanquished in our turn? Might not 
the Germans have the same fate? All gamblers 
end by losing! Those ideas and many others I 
turned over in my mind; and Marie-Rose said, too: 

‘« All is not over, father; all is not over! I had 
a dream last night. I saw Jean in a brigadier-for- 
ester’s costume; we will soon have some good 
news !” 

Alas! good news. Poor child! Yes, yes, you 
can dream happy dreams; you may see Jean wear- 
ing a brigadier’s stripes, and smiling at you and 
giving you his arm to lead you, with a white wreath 

206 


Brigadier Frederick 


on your head, to the little chapel at Graufthal, 
where the priest waits to marry you. All would 
have happened thus, but there should be fewer 
rascals on earth, to turn aside the just things es- 
tablished by the Almighty. Whenever I think of 
that time, George, I seem to feel a hand tearing 
out my heart. I would like to stop, but as | 
promised you, I will go on to the end. 

One day, when the fire was sparkling in the 
little stove, when Marie-Rose, very thin and 
thoughtful, was spinning, and when the old recol- 
lections of the forest house, with the beautiful 
spring, the calm, melancholy autumn, the songs of 
the blackbirds and thrushes, the murmur of the 
little river through the reeds, the voice of the old 
grandmother, that of poor Calas, the joyous bark- 
ing of Ragot, and the lowing of our two hand- 
some cows under the old willows, came stealing 
back to my memory; while I was forgetting my- 
self in these things, and while the monotonous 
hum of the spinning wheel and the ticking of our 
old clock were filling our little room, all at once 
cries and songs broke out in the distance. 

Marie-Rose listened with amazement; and I, 
abruptly torn from my pleasant dreams, started 
like a man who has been roused from sleep. The 
Germans were rejoicing so, some new calamity 

207 


Brigadier Frederick 


had befallen us. That was my first idea, and I 
was not mistaken. 

Soon bands of soldiers crossed the street, arm 
in arm, crying with all their might : 

“Paris has fallen! Long live the German 
fatherland !” 

I looked at Marie-Rose; she was as pale as 
death, and was looking at me also with her great 
brilliant eyes. We turned our eyes away from 
each other, so as not to betray the terrible emotion » 
that we felt. She went out into the kitchen, 
where I heard her crying. 

Until dark we heard nothing but new bands, 
singing and shouting as they passed; I, with 
bowed head, heard from time to time my 
daughter coughing behind the partition of the 
kitchen, and I gave myself up to despair. About 
seven o’clock Marie-Rose came in with the lamp. 
She wanted to set the table. 

“Tt is no use,” I said; “do not put down my ~ 
plate. Iam not hungry.” 

“ Neither am I,” said she. 

“Well, let us go to bed; let us try to forget 
our misery ; let us endeavour to sleep !” 

I rose ; we kissed each other, weeping. That 
night, George, was horrible. In spite of her 
efforts to stifle the cough I heard Marie-Rose 

208 


Brigadier Frederick 


coughing without intermission until morning, so 
that I could not close my eyes. I made up my 
mind to go for a doctor; but I did not want to 
frighten my daughter, and thinking of a means to 
speak of that to her, towards dawn I fell asleep. 

It was eight o’clock when I woke up, and 
after dressing myself I called Marie-Rose. She 
did not answer. Then I went into her room, and 
I saw spots of blood on her pillow ; her handker- 
chief, too, which she had left on the night-table, 
was all red. 

It made me shudder! I returned and _ sat 
down in my corner, thinking of what I had just 
seen. 


XXXVIII 


It was market day. Marie-Rose had gone to 
lay in our small stock of provisions; she returned 
about nine o’clock, so much out of breath that she 
could scarcely hold her basket. When I saw her 
come in I recollected the pale faces of those 
young girls, of whom the poor people of our val- 
ley used to say that God was calling them, and 
who fell asleep quietly at the first snow. This 
idea struck me, and I was frightened ; but then, 
steadying my voice, I said quite calmly : 

14 209 


Brigadier Frederick 


‘“‘See here, Marie-Rose, all last night I heard 
you coughing ; it makes me uneasy.” 

“Oh! it is nothing, father,” she answered, 
colouring slightly ; ‘‘it is nothing, the fine weather 
is coming and this cold will pass off.” 

“Anyhow,” I replied, ‘I will not be easy, as 
long as a doctor has not told me what it is. I 
must go at once and get a doctor.” 

She looked at me, with her hands crossed over 
the basket, on the edge of the table; and, guess- 
ing perhaps by my anxiety that I had discovered 
the spots of blood, she murmured : 

‘Very well, father, to ease your mind.” 

“Yes,” I said, ‘‘it is better to do things before- 
hand; what is nothing in the beginning may be- 
come very dangerous if neglected.” 

And I went out. Down stairs M. Michel - 
gave me the address of Dr. Carriére, who lived in 
the Rue de la Mairie. I went to see him. He 
was a man of about sixty, lean, with black spark- 
ling eyes and a grizzled head, who listened to me 
very attentively and asked me if I was not the 
brigadier forester that his friend M. d’Arence had 
spoken to him about. I answered that I was he, 
and he accompanied me at once. 

Twenty minutes afterward we reached our 
room. When Marie-Rose came the doctor ques- 

210 


Brigadier Frederick 


tioned her for a long time about the beginning of 
this cold, about her present symptoms, if she had 
not fever at night with shivering fits and attacks 
of suffocation. 

By his manner of questioning her she was, so 
to speak, forced to answer him, and the old doc- 
tor soon knew that she had been spitting blood 
for over a month; she confessed it, turning very 
pale and looking at me as if to ask pardon for 
having hidden this misfortune from me. Ah! I 
forgave her heartily, but I was in despair. After 
that Dr. Carriére wished to examine her; he lis- 
tened to her breathing and finally said that it was 
all right, that he would give her a prescription. 

But in the next room, when we were alone, he 
asked me if any of our family had been consump- 
tive ; and when I assured him that never, neither 
in my wife’s family nor my own, had we ever had 
the disease, he said : | 

‘“‘T believe you; your daughter is very beauti- 
fully formed ; she is a strong and handsome crea- 
ture; but then she must have had an accident; a 
fall, or something like that must have put her in 
this condition. She is probably hiding it from 
us; I must know it.” 

So I called Marie-Rose, and the doctor asked 


her if some weeks before she did not remember 
211 


Brigadier Frederick 


having fallen, or else run against something vio- 
lently, telling her that he was going to write his 
prescription according to what she would reply, 
and that her life probably depended upon it. 

Then Marie-Rose confessed that the day the 
Germans came to take away our cows she had 
tried to hold them back by the rope, and that 
one of the Prussians had struck her between the 
shoulders with the hilt of: his sword, which had 
thrown her forward on her hands, and that her 
mouth had suddenly filled with blood; but that 
the fear of my anger at hearing of such an out- 
rage had kept her from saying anything to me 
about it. 

All was then clear to me. I could not restrain 
my tears, looking at my poor child, the victim of 
so great a misfortune. She withdrew. The doc- 
tor wrote his prescription. As we were descend- 
ing the stairs he said : 

“Tt is very serious. You have only one 
daughter?” 

‘‘ She is my only one,” I answered. 

He was sad and thoughtful. 

“We will do our best,” he said; ‘youth has 
many resources! But do not let her be excited 
in any way.” 

As he walked down the street he repeated to 

212 


Brigadier Frederick 


~ me the advice that M. Simperlin had given me 
about the grandmother; I made no answer. It 
seemed to me that the earth was opening under 
my feet and was crying to me: 

“The dead—the dead! Give me my dead!” 

How glad I should have been to be the first to 
go to rest, to close my eyes and to answer: 

“Well, here I am. Take me and leave the 
young! Let them breathe a few days longer. 
They do not know that life is a terrible misfor- 
tune ; they will soon learn it, and will go with less 
regret. You will have them all the same!” 

And, continuing to muse in this way, I entered 
an apothecary’s shop near the large bridge and 
had the prescription made up. I returned to the 
house. Marie-Rose took two spoonfuls of the 
medicine morning and evening, as it had been 
directed. It did her good, I saw it from the first 
few days; her voice was clearer, her hands less 
burning ; she smiled at me, as if to say: 

“You see, father, it was only a cold. Don't 
worry about it any more.” 

An infinite sweetness shone in her eyes; she 
was glad to get well. The hope of seeing Jean 
once more added to her happiness. Naturally, I 
encouraged her in her joyous thoughts. I said: 

“We will receive news one of these days. 

213 


Brigadier Frederick 


Neighbour such a one also expects to hear from 
her son; it cannot be long now. The mails were 
stopped during the war, the letters are lying at 
the offices. The Germans wanted to discourage 
us. Now that the armistice is signed we will get 
our letters.” 

The satisfaction of learning such good news 
brightened her countenance. 

I did not let her go to the city ; 1 took the 
basket myself and went to get our provisions; 
the market women knew me. 

“Tt is the old brigadier,” they would say ; 
‘‘whose pretty daughter is sick. They are alone. 
It is he who comes now.” 

None of them ever sold me their vegetables at 
too high a price. 


XXXIX 


I rHoucut no longer of the affairs of the 
country. I only wanted to save my daughter; 
the rumours of elections, of the National Assem- 
bly at Bordeaux, no longer interested me; my 
only thought was: 

‘Tf Marie-Rose only lives!” 

So passed the end of January, then came the 
treaty of peace: we were deserted! And from 

214 


Brigadier Frederick 


day to day the neighbours received news from 
their sons, from their brothers, from their friends, 
some prisoners in Germany, others in canton- 
ments in the interior; but for us not a word! 

I went to the post-office every morning to see 
if anything had come for us. One day the post- 
master said to me: 

“Ah! it is you. The postman has just gone. 
He has a letter for you.” 

Then I hastened hopefully home. As I reached 
the door the postman left the alley and called to 
me, laughing : 

“Hurry up, Father Frederick, you have got 
what you wanted this time: a letter that comes 
from the Army of the Loire!” 

I went up stairs four steps at a time, with beat- 
ing heart. What were we about to hear? What 
had happened during so many weeks? Was Jean 
on the road to come and see us? Would he arrive 
the next day—in two, three, or four days? 

Agitated by these thoughts, when I got up 
stairs my hand sought for the latch without find- 
ing it. At last I pushed open the door; my little 
room was empty. I called: 

‘““Marie-Rose! Marie-Rose!” 

No answer. I went into the other room; and 
my child, my poor child was lying there on the 

215 


Brigadier Frederick 


floor, near her bed, white as wax, her great eyes 
half open, the letter clutched in her hand, a little 
blood on her lips. I thought her dead, and with 
a terrible cry I caught her up and laid her on the 
bed. Then, half wild, calling, crying, I took the 
letter and read it with one glance. 

See, here it is! Read it, George, read it aloud ; 
I know it by heart, but it does not matter, I like 
to turn the knife in the wound; when it bleeds it 
hurts less. 


“My Dear MarirE-Rose: Adieu! I shall never 
see you more. A bursting shell has shattered my 
right leg; the surgeons have had to amputate it. 
I will not survive the operation long. I had lain 
too long on the ground. I had lost too much 
blood. It is all over. I must die! Oh! Marie- 
Rose, dear Marie-Rose, how I would like to see 
you again for one instant, one minute ; how much 
good it woulddome! All the time I lay wounded 
in the snow I thought only of you. Do not for- 
get me either; think sometimes of Jean Merlin. 
Poor Mother Margredel, poor Father Frederick, 
poor Uncle Daniel! You willtellthem. Ah! how 
happy we would have been without this war!” 


The letter stopped here. Underneath, as you 
see, another hand had written: ‘Jean Merlin, 
216 

























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Brigadier Frederick 


Alsatian. Detachment of the 21st Corps. Silly- 
le-Guillaume, 26th of January, 1871.” 

I took this all in with one look, and then I 
continued to call, to cry, and at last I fell into a 
chair, utterly exhausted, saying to myself that all 
was lost, my daughter, my son-in-law, my country 
—all, and that it would be better for me to die, too. 

My cries had been heard; some people came 
up stairs, Father and Mother Michel, I think. 
Yes, it was they who sent for the doctor. I was 
like one distracted, without a sign of reason; my 
ears were singing; it seemed to me that I was 
asleep and was having a horrible dream. 

Long after the voice of Dr. Carriére roused 
me from my stupor; he said: 

“Take him away! Do not let him see this! 
Take him away !” 

Some people took me by the arms; then I 
grew indignant, and I cried: 

“No, sir; I will not be taken away! I want 
to stay, she is my daughter! Have you children, 
that you tell them to take me away? I want to 
save her! I want to defend her!” 

“Let him alone,” said the doctor, sadly; “let 
the poor fellow alone. But you must be silent,” 
he said to me; “your cries may kill her.” 


I fell back in my seat, murmuring : 
Vol. 11—P 217 


Brigadier Frederick 


‘“‘T will not cry out any more, sir; I will say 
nothing. Only let me stay by her; I will be very 
quiet.” 

A few minutes after, Dr. Carriére left the 
room, making a sign to the others to withdraw. 

A great many people followed him, a small 
number remained. I saw them moving to and 
fro, arranging the bed and raising the pillows, 
whispering among themselves. The silence was 
profound. Time passed. A priest appeared with 
his assistants ; they began to pray in Latin ; It was 
the last offices of the church. The good women, 
kneeling, uttered the responses. 

All disappeared. It was then about five o'clock 
in the evening. The lamp was lighted. I rose 
softly and approached the bed. 

My daughter, looking as beautiful as an angel, 
her eyes half open, still breathed ; I called her in 
a whisper: ‘‘ Marie-Rose! Marie-Rose!” crying 
bitterly as I spoke. | 

It seemed every minute as if she was about to 
look at me and answer, ‘ Father!” 

But it was only the light that flickered on her 
face. She no longer stirred. And from minute 
to minute, from hour to hour, I listened to her 
breathing, which was growing gradually shorter 
and shorter. I looked at her cheeks and her fore- 

218 


Brigadier Frederick 


head, gradually growing paler. At last, uttering a 
sigh, she lifted her head, which was slightly droop- 
ing, and her blue eyes opened slowly. 

A good woman, who was watching with me, 
took a little mirror from the table and held it to 
her lips; no cloud dimmed the surface of the 
glass; Marie-Rose was dead. 

I said nothing, I uttered no lamentations, and 
I followed like a child those who led me into the 
next room. I sat down in the shadow, my hands 
on my knees; my courage was broken. 

And now it is ended. I have told you all, 
George. 

Need I tell you of the funeral, the coffin, the 
cemetery? and then of my return to the little 
room where Marie-Rose and I had lived together ; 
of my despair at finding myself alone, without 
relations, without a country, without hope, and to 
say to myself, ‘ You will live thus always—always 
until the worms eat you!” 

No, I cannot tell you about that ; it is too hor- 
rible. I have told you enough. 

You need only know that I was like a mad- 
man, that I had evil ideas which haunted me, 
thoughts of vengeance. 

It was not I, George, who cherished those 
terrible thoughts; it was the poor creature aban- 

219 


Brigadier Frederick 


doned by heaven and earth, whose heart had been 
torn out, bit by bit, and who knew no longer 
where to lay his head. 

I wandered through the streets ; the good peo- 
ple pitied me; Mother Ory gave me all my meals. 
I learned that later. Then I did not think of any- 
thing ; my evil thoughts did not leave me; I talked 
of them alone, sitting behind the stove of the 
inn, my chin on my hands, my elbows on my 
knees, and my eyes fixed on the floor. 

God only knows what hatred I meditated. 
Mother Ory understood all, and the excellent 
woman, who wished me well, told M. d’Arence 
about me. 

One morning, when I was alone in the inn 
parlour, he came to talk things over with me, re- 
minding me that he had always shown himself 
very considerate towards me, that he had always 
recommended me as an honest man, a good ser- 
vant, full of zeal and probity, in whom one could 
‘repose perfect trust, and that he hoped it would 
be that way till the end; that he was sure of it; 
that a brave, just man, even in the midst of the 
greatest misfortunes, would show himself the same 
that he was in prosperity; that duty and honour 
marched before him; that his greatest consolation 
and his best was to be able to say to himself: “I 

220 


Brigadier Frederick 


am cast down, it is true; but my courage remains 
to me; my good conscience supports me; my 
enemies themselves are forced to confess that fate 
has been unjust to me.” 

He talked to me in this manner for a long 
time, pacing up and down the room; and I, who 
had not shed a tear at my daughter’s funeral, I 
burst out crying. 

Then he told me that the time bad come to 
depart ; that the sight of the Prussians only em- 
bittered my nature ; that he would give me a letter 
of recommendation for one of his intimate friends 
in Paris; that I would obtain there a situation 
witha small salary, either on the railway or else- 
where ; and that in this way, when my pension 
was paid to me, I could live in peace, not happy, 
but far from all that reminded me unceasingly of 
my misfortunes. 

I was ready to do anything that he wished, 
George, but he wanted nothing but for my own 
good. 

So I set out, and for the last three years I have 
been one of the superintendents of the Eastern 
Railway Station. 


221 


Brigadier Frederick 


XL 


s 

WHEN JI arrived in the midst of the great con- 
fusion after the siege, I had the pain of seeing a 
terrible thing, the recollection of which adds to 
my suffering—Frenchmen fighting against French- 
men. The great city was in flames, and the Prus- 
sians outside looked at this sight with a barbar- 
ous joy. 

“There is no longer any Paris,” they said ; 
“no longer any Paris.” 

The horrible envy that gnawed these people 
was Satisfied. 

Yes, I have seen that! I thought that it was 
all over with us; I shuddered at it. I cried, 
“The Almighty has determined that France shall 
descend into the abyss !” 

But that, thanks to Heaven, has also passed 
away. ‘The recollection remains; let us hope that 
it will never perish. 

And that was not all. After these great ca- 
lamities I was obliged to witness, as I fulfilled the 
duties of my post, pass, day by day, before my 
eyes, the great emigration of our brothers of Alsace 
and Lorraine ; men, women, children, old men, by 
thousands, going to earn their living far from their 
native land—in Algeria, in America, everywhere. 

222 


Brigadier Frederick 


Our poor countrymen all recognised me by 
my face; they said, ‘‘ He is one of our people.” 

The sight of them does me good also; it is 
like a breath from one’s native land of good and 
wholesome air. We shook hands. I pointed 
them out the hotel where one can live cheaply ; I 
rendered them all the little services that one can 
render to friends of a day, who will retain a kind 
remembrance of him who held out his hand to 
them. 

And in the evening, when I went back to my 
little room under the roof, and thinking about | 
these things, I am still glad at not being quite 
useless in this world; it is my only consolation, 
George ; sometimes this thought gives me a good 
night’s rest. 

Other days, when the weather is gloomy, 
when it rains, when it is cold, or when I have 
met in the street the bier of a young girl, with its 
white wreath, then sad thoughts get the upper 
hand. I wrap my old cloak around me when my 
work is over, and I wander aimlessly through the 
streets, among the people who are all occupied by 
their own affairs and pay no attention to any one. 
I walk very far, sometimes to the Arc de Tri- 
omphe, sometimes to the Garden of Plants, and I 
return utterly exhausted. I fall asleep, trying not 

223 


Brigadier Frederick 


to think of the happy days of the past, for those 
remembrances make my heart throb even in a 
dream, and suddenly I awake, covered with per- 
spiration, and crying : 

‘All is over. You have no longer a daughter. 
You are alone in the world.” 

I am obliged to rise, to light my lamp, and to 
open the window in order to calm myself a lit- 
tle, to soothe myself and to restore myself to 
reason. 

Sometimes, too, I dream that I am at the 
forest house with Jean Merlin and Marie-Rose. 
I see them; I talk to them; we are happy. But 
when I awake—do not let us talk of it; what is 
ended cannot return. 

Things will go on this way as long as they 
can. I shall not be buried with the old people, 
neither with Jean; nor with my daughter. We 
will all be scattered. This thought also gives me 
pain. 

I must confess, George, that our brothers of 
Paris have received us very well; they have 
helped us, they have aided us in a hundred ways; 
they have done all that they could for us. But 
after such terrible disasters, they themselves hav- 
ing been so severely tried, the poverty was still 
very great; for a long time in the garrets of 

224 


Brigadier Frederick 


La Villette, of La Chapelle, and of the other 
suburbs, we suffered from cold and hunger. 

To-day the greatest portion of the stream. of 
emigration has passed; almost all the labourers 
have got work ; the women and the old people 
have found a refuge, and the children are receiv- 
ing instruction in the public schools. 

Others are always coming, the emigation will 
last as long as the annexation, for Frenchmen 
cannot bow their heads like the Germans under 
the Prussians’ despotism, and the annexation will 
last long if we continue to dispute over party 
questions instead of uniting together in the love 
of our fatherland. 

But do not let us speak of our dissensions; 
that is too sad. 

The only thing that I have still to say to you 
before ending this sorrowful story is, that in the 
midst of my misfortunes, I do not accuse the 
Almighty ; no, the Almighty is just; we deserve 
to suffer. Whence came all our misfortunes? 
From one man who had taken an oath before 
God to obey the laws, and who trampled them 
under his feet, who had those killed who defended 
them, and transported far away to the islands 
thousands of his fellow beings whose courage and 
good sense he feared. Well, this man we ap- 

15 225 


Brigadier Frederick | 


proved of ; we voted for him, not once but twenty 
times ; we took, so to speak, his evil actions upon 
ourselves ; we threw aside justice and honour; we 
thought, “Interest does everything ; this man is 
shrewd; he has succeeded; we must support 
him.” 

When I remember that I voted for that 
wretch, knowing that it was not just, but afraid 
of losing my place, when I remember that, I cry, 
“Frederick, may God forgive you! You have 
lost everything, friends, relatives, country—every- 
thing. Confess that you deserved it. You were 
not ashamed to support the man who caused 
thousands of Frenchmen, as honest as yourself, 
also to lose their little all. You voted for 
strength against justice; you must bow beneath 
the law that you accepted. And, like millions of 
others, you, too, gave that man the right to de- 
clare war; he did so. He staked you, your coun- 
try, your family, your possessions, those of all 
Frenchmen in the interests of his dynasty, with- 
out thinking of anything, without reflecting or 
taking any precautions; he lost the game. Pay 
and be silent. Do not reproach the Almighty 
with your own stupidity and injustice ; beat your 
breast and bear your iniquity.” That is what I 
think. 

226 


Brigadier Frederick 


May others profit by my example; may they 
always nominate honest people to represent 
them ; may honesty, disinterestedness and patriot- 
ism come before anything else; people who are 
too cunning are often dishonest, and people who 
are too bold, who do not fear to cry out against 
the laws, are also capable of upsetting them and 
of putting their own will in the place of them. 

That is the best advice to be given to the 
French ; if they profit by it all will go well, we 
will regain our frontiers; if they do not profit by 
it, that which happened to the Alsatians and 
Lorrainers will happen to them also, province by 
province ; they may repent, but it will be too late. 

As to the Germans, they will reap what they 
have sown. Now they are at the pinnacle of 
power ; they made all Europe tremble, and they 
are foolish enough to rejoice at it. It is very 
dangerous to frighten every one; we learned it at 
our own expense; they will learn it in their turn. 
Because Bismark has succeeded in his enter- 
prises, they look upon him as a kind of a god; 
they will not see that this man employed only 
dishonest means: strategy, lies, espionage, corrup- 
tion and violence. Nothing is ever firm that is 
erected on such a foundation. 

But to tell all this or nothing to the Germans 

227 


Brigadier Frederick 


would come to the same thing ; they are intoxi- 
cated by their victories, and will only awake 
when Europe, wearied by their ambition and by 
their insolence, will rise to bring them to reason; 
then they will be forced to acknowledge, as we 
have acknowledged ourselves, that, if strength 
sometimes overwhelms right, justice is eternal. 


THE END OF BRIGADIER FREDERICK 


228 


THE DEAN'S WATCH 








THE DEAN’S WATCH 





I 


Tue day before the Christmas of 1832, my 
friend Wilfrid, his double-bass slung over his 
shoulder, and I with violin under my arm, were 
on our way from the Black Forest to Heidelberg. 
An extraordinary quantity of snow had fallen that 
season. As far as our eyes could see over the 
great desert plain before us, not a trace of the 
route, either of road or path, was to be discovered. 
The north wind whistled its shrill aria about our 
ears with a monotonous persistence, and Wilfrid, 
with wallet flattened against his thin back, his 
long heron-legs stretched to the utmost, and the 
visor of his little flat cap pulled down over his 
nose, strode along before me, humming a gay air 
from “Ondine.” Every now and then he turned 
his head with a grim smile, and cried: 

“Comrade, play me the waltz from ‘ Robin ’— 
I wish to dance !” 

A peal of laughter always followed, and then 

3 


The Dean’s Watch 


the brave fellow would push on again with fresh 
courage. I toiled on behind in his footsteps, with 
the snow up to my knees, and my spirits sinking 
lower and lower every moment. 

The heights about Heidelberg had begun to 
appear on the distant horizon, and we were hoping 
to reach the town before nightfall, when we heard 
the gallop of a horse behind us. It was about five 
o'clock, and great flakes of snow were whirling 
about in the gray light. Soon the rider was within 
twenty steps. He slackened his pace, examining 
us out of one corner of his eye. We also exam- 
ined him. 

Imagine a big man with red beard and _ hair, 
wrapped in a brown cloak, over which was loosely 
thrown a pelisse of fox-skins; on his head a 
superb cocked-hat ; his hands buried in fur gloves 
reaching to the elbows. On the croup of his 
stout stallion was strapped a well-filled valise. 
Evidently he was some burly sheriff, or burgo- 
master. 

“Hey, my lads!” he cried, drawing one of his 
big hands from the muff which hung across his 
saddle-bow, and clapping his charger’s neck, ‘we 
are going to Heidelberg, I see, to try a little 
music.” 

Wilfrid eyed the traveller askance. 

4 


The Dean’s Watch 


“Ts that any affair of yours, sir?” he answered, 
gruffly. 

“Eh? yes; I should have a piece of advice to 
give you.” 

“Well, you can keep it till it’s asked for,” re- 
torted Wilfrid, quickening his pace. 

I cast a second glance at our new companion. 
He looked exactly like a great cat, with ears stand- 
ing out from his head, his eyelids half closed, and 
a long, bristling mustache; altogether he had a 
sort of purring, paternal air. 

“ My friend,” he began again, this time address- 
ing me, ‘the best thing you can do is to return 
whence you came.” 

“Why, sir?” 

“The famous maestro Prinenti, from Novare, 
has announced a grand Christmas concert at Hei- 
delberg. Everybody is going to it; you will not 
get a single kreutzer.” 

This was too much for Wilfrid. 

““A fig for your maestro, and all the Prinentis 
in this world!” he cried, snapping his fingers. 
“This lad here, with his long curls and blue eyes, 
and not a hair yet on his chin, is worth an army 
of your Italian charlatans. Though he never 
played outside the Black Forest, he can handle a 


bow with the first musician in Europe, and will 
Vol, 11—Q 5 


The Dean’s Watch 


draw melody from his violin such as was never 
heard before in Heidelberg.” 

“Hear, hear!” cried the stranger. 

“Tt is just as I tell you,” said Wilfrid, blowing 
on his fingers, which were red with the cold. 

Then he set out to run, and I followed him as 
best I might, thinking he wished to make game 
of the traveller, who kept up with us, however, at 
a little trot. 

In this way we went on in silence for more 
than half a league. Suddenly the stranger cried 
out, in a harsh voice : 

‘Whatever your talents may be, go back 
to the Black Forest. We have vagabonds 
enough in Heidelberg already without you. It 
is good advice I give you—you had best profit 
by it.” 

Wilfrid was about to make an angry retort, 
but the rider had started off at a gallop, and al- 
ready reached the grand avenue of the elector. 
At the same moment, a great flock of crows rose 
from the plain, and seemed to follow him, filling 
the air with their loud cries. 

About seven o’clock in the evening we reached 
Heidelberg. There, in fact, we found posted on 
all the walls Prinenti’s flaming placards, “Grand 
Concert, Solo, etc., etc.” We wandered about 

6 


The Dean’s Watch 


among the different ale-houses, in which we met 
several musicians from the Black Forest, all old 
comrades of ours, who immediately engaged us to 
play in their band. There were old Bremer, the 
violoncellist ; his two sons, Ludwig and Carl, capi- 
tal second violins; Heinrich Siebel, the clarinet- 
player; and big Berthe with her harp. Wilfrid 
with his bass-viol, and myself as first violin, made 
up the troupe. 

It was agreed that we should all go together, 
make one purse, and divide after Christmas. Wil- 
frid had already engaged a room for himself and 
me. It was on the sixth story of the little tavern 
“ Pied-du-Mouton,” in the middle of the Holder- 
gasse, and was only a garret, though, luckily, it 
had a sheet-iron stove, in which we lighted a fire 
to dry ourselves. 

While we were sitting quietly over the fire, 
roasting chestnuts and discussing a pot of wine, 
who should come tripping up the stairs and knock 
at the door but little Annette, the maid of the inn, 
in scarlet petticoat and black-velvet bodice, with 
cheeks like roses, and lips as red as cherries! 
Next moment she had thrown herself into my 
arms with a cry of joy. 

We were old friends, the pretty Annette and 
I, for we were both from the same village, and, to 

7 


The Dean’s Watch 


say truth, my heart had long been captive to her 
bright eyes and coquettish airs. 

‘“‘T saw you go up just now,” she’ said, drawing 
a stool to my side, ‘‘and here I am, come for a 
minute’s talk with you.” 

With that she began such a string of questions 
about this one and that—in fact, about every one 
in our village—that I declare to you it was as 
much as I could do to answer the half of them. 
Every little while she would stop and look at me 
with such a tender air—we would have been there 
till this time, had not suddenly Mother Gréder 
Dick screamed from the bottom of the stairs : 

‘Annette, Annette, are you ever coming ?” 

‘This minute, madame, this minute,” cried the 
poor child, jumping up in a fright. She gave me 
a little pat on the cheek, and flew to the door. 
But, just as she was going out, she stopped. 

“Ah!” she cried, turning back, “I forgot to 
tell you. Have you heard oy 

“What ?” 

“The death of our pro-recteur Zahn ?” 

“ Well, what is that to us?” 

“Ah, yes; but take care, sir, take care—if 
your papers are not all right! To-morrow morn- 
ing, at eight o'clock, they will come to ask for 
them. They have arrested, oh! so many people 

8 





The Dean’s Watch 


during the last two weeks. The pro-recteur was 
assassinated yesterday evening, in the library, at 
the Cloister of Saint-Christophe. Last week the 
old priest, Ulmet Elias, who lived in the Jews’ 
quarter, was killed in the same way. Only a few 
days before that they murdered the nurse, Chris- 
tina Haas, and Seligmann, the agate-merchant of 
the Rue Durlach. So, my poor Kasper,” she 
added, with a tender glance, ‘‘take good care of 
yourself, and be sure that your papers are all 
right.” 

All the while she was speaking, the cries below 
continued. 

“ Annette, O Annette, wz// you come? Oh, 
the miserable creature, to leave me here all 
alone!” 

And now, too, we could hear the shouts of 
the guests in the saloon calling for wine, beer, 
ham, sausages. Annette saw that she must go, 
and ran down the stairs as quickly as she had 
come up. | 

_ “Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!” J heard her soft 
voice answering her mistress, ‘‘what can be the 
matter, madame, that you should make such an 
outcry? One would think the house were on 
fire.” 

Wilfrid closed the door’ after her, and came 

9 


The Dean’s Watch 


back to his seat. We looked at each other with 
some uneasiness. 

‘This is strange news,” said he at last. “At 
any rate, your papers are all in order ?” 

“Certainly,” I replied, and showed him my 
pass. 

“Good! There is mine, I had it viséed before 
we left. But still, all these murders bode no good 
to us. I am afraid we shall make but a poor busi- 
ness here. Many families must be in mourning, 
and then, besides all these annoyances, the trouble 
which the police will give us.” 

‘“Bah!” cried I, ““you take too dismal a view 
of everything.” 

We continued to talk about these strange 
events until long past midnight. The fire in our 
little stove lighted up the angles of the roof, the 
square dormer window with its three cracked panes 
of glass, the mattress spread upon the bare boards, 
the blackened beams overhead, the little fir table, 
which cast an unsteady shadow on the worm-eaten 
floor. A mouse, attracted by the heat, darted back 
and forth like an arrow along the wall. We could 
hear the wind without, whistling and bellowing 
around the high chimney-stacks, sweeping the 
snow from the gutters beneath the eaves in misty 
swirls. J was dreaming of Annette, Silence had 

10 


The Dean’s Watch 


fallen upon us. Suddenly Wilfrid, throwing off 
his coat, cried : 

“Tt is time to sleep ; put another stick of wood 
in the stove, and let us go to bed.” 

“ Yes, that is the best thing we can do,” said I, 
and began to pull off my boots. Two minutes 
afterward we were stretched on the mattress, the 
coverings drawn up to our chins, and a great log 
under our heads for a pillow. Wilfrid was asleep 
in a moment. The light from the little stove 
blazed up and died away, the wind redoubled its 
violence without, and, in the midst of dreams of 
Annette, I, too, in my turn, slept the sleep of the 
just. 

About two o'clock in the morning I was 
awakened by a strange noise. At first I thought 
it was a cat running along the gutters; but, my 
ear being close to the rafters, I could not remain 
long in doubt. Some one was walking over the 
roof. I touched Wilfrid with my elbow to awaken 
him. 

‘“‘ Hist !” whispered he, pressing my hand. 

He also had heard the noise. The fire was 
just dying out, the last feeble flame flickered on 
the crumbling walls. I was on the point of spring- 
ing from the bed, when, at a single blow, the little 
window, kept closed by a fragment of brick, was 

II 


The Dean’s Watch 


pushed open. A pale face, with red hair, eyes 
gleaming with phosphorescent light, and quivering 
cheeks appeared in the opening, and looked about 
the room. Our fright was so great that we could 
not utter a sound. The man passed first one leg, 
then the other, through the window, and descended 
into the garret so carefully that not a board creaked 
under his footsteps. 

This man, with heavy, round shoulders, short 
and thick-set, his face wrinkled and set like a tiger 
couched to spring, was none other than the rider 
who had overtaken us on the road to Heidelberg. 
But what a change in his appearance since then! 
In spite of the excessive cold, he was in his shirt- 
sleeves, a pair of breeches belted about his waist, 
woollen stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. 
A long knife, flecked with blood, glittered in his 
hand. eos 

Wilfrid and I gave ourselves up for lost. But 
he did not seem to see us under the shadow of the 
sloping roof, although the fire was fanned again 
into a blaze by the current of cold air from the 
open window. The intruder seated himself ona - 
stool, cowering and shivering in a strange way. 
Suddenly his greenish-yellow eyes fixed themselves 
on me, his nostrils dilated ; for more than a minute, 
which seemed to me an age, he stared at me. The 

12 


The Dean’s Watch 


blood stood still in my veins. Then at last, turn- 
ing towards the fire, he coughed with-a husky, 
hoarse sound, like that which a cat makes, without 
moving a muscle of his face. Drawing a watch 
from the fob of his pantaloons, he seemed to look 
at the hour, and then, whether from absence of 
mind or some other reason, I know not, laid it 
upon the table. At length, rising from his seat 
with an air of uncertainty, he looked towards the 
window, appeared for a moment to hesitate, and 
then passed out of the door, leaving it wide open 
behind him. 

I jumped up to shove the bolt, but already the 
man’s steps were creaking on the staircase two 
stories below. Aan irresistible curiosity overcame 
my terror. I heard a window open, which looked 
upon the court, and, in a moment, I was at the 
dormer in the landing of the stairs on the same 
side. The court, seen from this height, was like a 
deep well. A wall, fifty or sixty feet high, divided 
it into two parts. On the right was the court of 
a pork-butcher ; on the left, that of the Pied-du- 
Mouton. The wall was covered with moss and 
the rank vegetation which flourishes in the shade. 
Its summit reached from the window which the 
marauder had just opened, in a straight line to 
the roof of a great, gloomy building in the rear of 

16 13 


The Dean’s Watch 


the Bergstrasse. All this I took in at a glance, 
as the moon shone out from among the heavy 
snow-laden clouds, and I trembled as I saw the 
man come out through the window, and fly along 
the top of this wall, his head bent forward, the 
long knife in his hand, while the wind whistled 
and wailed a dismal chorus. 

He gained the roof in front, and disappeared 
through a window. I believed I must be dream- 
ing. For several moments I remained with open 
mouth, my breast bare, and my hair blown about 
by the wind and wet by the sleet which fell from 
the eaves. At last, waking from my stupor, I - 
returned to our garret, and found Wilfrid with 
face blanched, and haggard with fright, and mut- 
tering a prayer under his breath. I hastened to 
bolt the door, throw some wood into the stove, 
and slip on my clothes. 

“Well?” asked my comrade, getting out of 
bed. 

“Well,” I replied, ‘‘we are safe this time. If 
that man did not see us, it was only because 
Heaven was not ready yet for us to die.” 

“Yes,” he murmured, “yes; it is one of the 
assassins Annette told us about. Good Heavens! 
what a face! and what a knife!” 

He fell back on the mattress. I swallowed 

14 


The Dean’s Watch 


what was left of the wine in the pitcher; and, as 
the fire was now burning brightly, filling the room 
with its heat, and the bolt seemed a strong one, I 
began to regain my courage. 

Still, the watch was there; the man might re- 
turn to look for it. Our fears awoke again at 
this idea. 

“What is to be done now?” asked Wilfrid. 
‘Our shortest plan will be to go back at once to 
the Black Forest. I have no wish to play any 
more double-bass. You can do as you choose——” 

“ But why? What should make us go back? 
We have committed no crime.” 

“Hush! speak low!” whispered he. ‘The 
word crzme alone is enough to hang us if any one 
heard. Poor devils like us serve as examples for 
others. Were they only to find this watch 


” 





here 

“Come, Wilfrid,” said I; ‘it is no use to lose 
one’s head. I dare say, a crime has been com- 
mitted this night in the neighbourhood, it is more 
than probable; but, instead of flying, an honest 
man should aid justice ; he should , 

“ But how aid it? how?” 

“The simplest way will be to take the watch 
to-morrow to the provost, and tell him what has 
taken place,” 





1§ 


The Dean’s Watch 


‘Never! never! I would not dare touch the 
watch.” 

‘Very well; I will go myself. Come, let us 
go to bed again.” 

‘““No; I cannot sleep any more.” 

‘As you will.—Light your pipe, then, and let 
us talk.” 

As soon as day dawned, I took the watch 
from the table. It was a very fine one, with two 
dials—one for the hours, the other for the min- 
utes. Wilfrid seemed, however, by this time, to 
have regained his assurance. 

“Kasper,” he said, “all things considered, it 
will be better for me to go to the provost. You 
are too young for such a piece of business. You 
will not be able to explain properly.” 

‘Just as you choose,” I replied. 

‘‘ Besides, it would seem strange for a man of 
my age to send a child.” 

“Oh, yes, Wilfrid; I understand.” 

I saw that his self-esteem had driven him to 
this resolution. He would have been ashamed to 
own to his comrades that he had shown less cour- 
age than I. 

He took the watch, and we descended the 
stairs with grave faces. Passing through the alley 
which leads to the street Saint-Christophe, we 

16 


The Dean’s Watch 


heard the clinking of glasses and knives and 
forks. At the same time I recognised the voices 
of old Bremer and his two sons. 

“ Faith, Wilfrid,” said I, “a good glass of wine 
would not be bad before we go out.” 

I pushed open the door into the saloon. All 
our friends were there; violins and horns hung 
upon the walls—the harp in one corner. They 
received us with joyful cries of welcome, and 
made us take seats at the table. 

“Hey!” cried old Bremer; ‘good luck, com- 
rades! See the snow, and the wind! The saloons 
will all be full. Every flake of snow in the air 
is a florin in our pockets !” 

The sight of my little Annette, as fresh and 
piquant as ever, smiling on me with eyes and lips 
full of love, gave me new spirits. The best pieces 
of ham were for me; and, every time that she 
came to set down a glass near me, her hand would 
tenderly press my shoulder. Ah! how my heart 
beat, as I thought of the nuts which we had 
cracked together the night before! 

Still, the pale face of the assassin would pass 
from time to time before my eyes, making me 
shudder at the recollection. I looked at Wilfrid. 
He was grave and thoughtful. As eight o’clock 
struck, we all rose to go, when suddenly the door 

17 


The Dean’s Watch 


opened, and three mean-looking fellows, with 
leaden faces, and eyes sharp as rats’, followed by 
several more of the same sort, presented them- 
selves on the threshold. One of them, with a 
long nose, which seemed to be on the scent for 
some mischief, a great cudgel in his fist, advanced 
with the demand— 

‘Your papers, gentlemen !” 

Every one hastened to satisfy him. Unhap- 
pily, however, Wilfrid, who was standing near the 
_ stove, was seized with a sudden fit of trembling; 
and, as he saw the practised eye of the police 
agent regarding him with an equivocal look, the 
unlucky idea occurred to him of letting the watch 
slip down into his boot. Before it reached its 
destination, however, the officer stepped up to 
him, and, slapping him on the leg, cried, in a ban- 
tering tone: 

“Ah! ha! something seems to trouble you” 
here!” 

Upon this, Wilfrid, to the consternation of all, 
succumbed entirely. He fell back upon a bench, 
as pale as death; and Madoc, the chief of police, 
with a malicious shout of laughter, drew forth the 
watch from his pantaloons. But, the moment the 
agent looked at it, he became grave. 


“Let no one go out!” he thundered to his 
18 


The Dean’s Watch 


followers; ‘‘ we’ve the whole gang here. ’ Tis the 
watch of the dean, Daniel Van der Berg. Quick! 
_the handcuffs!” 

Thereupon arose a terrible tumult. Giving 
ourselves up for lost, I slipped down under the 
bench close to the wall. In spite of their pro-. 
tests, poor old Bremer, his sons, and Wilfrid, were 
all handcuffed. Just then I felt a soft little hand 
passed gently about my neck. It was Annette’s, 
and I pressed my lips upon it as a last adieu, 
when, seizing my ear, she pulled it gently— 
gently. Under one end of the table I saw the 
cellar-door open ; I slipped through; the trap-door 
closed. 

All had passed in a second. In my hiding- 
place I heard them trampling over the door; then 
everything was still; my unlucky comrades were 
gone. Without, on the door-step, I heard Mother 
Grédel Dick lamenting in shrill tones the dishon- 
our which had fallen on the Pied-du-Mouton. 

All day long I remained squeezed behind a 
hogshead, with back bent and legs doubled under 
me—a prey to a thousand fears. Should a dog 
stray into the cellar—should the landlady take a 
fancy to refill the jug herself, or a fresh cask have 
to be broached—the least chance might be my 
destruction. I imagined old Bremer and his sons, 

19 


The Dean’s Watch 


Wilfrid, big Berthe herself, all hanging from the 
gibbet on the Harberg, in the middle of a great 
flock of crows that were feasting at their expense. 
My hair stood on end. 

Annette, as anxious as myself, carefully closed 
the door each time she left the cellar. 

“Leave the door alone,” I heard the old 
woman say. ‘Are you a fool, to lose half your 
time in opening it ?” 

After that the door remained open. I saw the 
tables surrounded by new guests, who discussed in 
loud tones the doings of the famous band of mur- 
derers who had just been captured, and exulted 
over the fate in store for them. All the musicians 
from the Black Forest, they said, were bandits, 
who made a pretence of their trade to find their 
way into houses and spy out the bolts and bars, 
and then, next morning, the master would be 
found murdered in his bed, the mistress and chil- 
dren with their throats cut. They ought all to be 
exterminated without pity. 

“All the town will go to see them hanged!” 
cried Mother Grédel. “It will be the happiest 
day of my life!” 

“And to think that the watch of Maitre Dan- 
iel was the means of their capture! He told the 
police of its loss, and gave them a description of 

20 


The Dean’s Watch 


it this morning; and, an hour afterward, Madoc 
bagged the whole covey.” 

Thereupon followed shouts of laughter and 
triumph. Shame, indignation, terror, made me 
hot and cold by turns. 

Night came at last. All the drinkers had 
gone, save two or three who still lingered over 
their cups. A single candle remained lighted in 
the saloon. 

“Go to bed, madame,” said Annette’s soft 
voice to Mother Grédel; “I will stay till these 
gentlemen go.” 

The carousers, tipsy as they were, understood 
the hint, and took their leave, one by one. 

“At last,” thought I, as I heard the last one 
go, stumbling and hiccoughing through the door 
—‘‘they are all gone. Mother Grédel will go to 
bed. Annette will come, without delay, to deliver 
me.” | 

In this agreeable anticipation, I had already 
disentangled my numb limbs, when these dreadful 
words of the portly landlady met my ears: 

“ Annette, go and close up, and do not forget 
the bar. I am going myself into the cellar.” 

Alas! this seemed to be the praiseworthy, but 
for me most unlucky, custom of the good lady— 


so as to see herself that all was right. 
Vol, 11—R i 21 


The Dean’s Watch 


“But, madame,” stammered Annette, ‘there 
is no need ; the cask is not empty , 

‘“Mind your own business,” interrupted her 
mistress, whose candle already was shining at the 
top of the steps. 

I had hardly time to crouch again behind the 
cask. The old woman went from one cask to the 
other, stooping beneath the low ceiling of the 
vault. 

“Oh, the hussy!” I heard her mutter; “how 
she lets the wine leak out! But only wait—I will 
teach her to close the stopcocks better. Just to 
see! just to see!” 

The light cast dark shadows on the walls glis- 
tening with moisture. I made myself as small as 
possible. 





Suddenly, just as I thought the danger over, I 
heard a sigh from the stout dame—a sigh so long, 
so lugubrious, that it struck me at once. Some- 
thing extraordinary must have happened. I risked 
a look. To my horror, I saw Mother Grédel, 
with open mouth, and eyes starting from her head, 
staring at the ground beneath the cask behind 
which I was standing motionless. She had espied 
one of my feet, projecting beneath the joist which 
supported the hogshead. No doubt, she thought 


she had discovered the chief of the brigands, hid- 
22 


The Dean’s Watch 


den there for the purpose of cutting her throat 
during the night. My resolution was taken quick- 
ly. Rising up, I said in a low voice: 

““Madame, for Heaven’s sake, have pity on 
me! Iam 

But thereupon, without listening—without 
even looking at me, she began to scream like any 
peacock—the shrillest, the most ear-piercing 
screams—and at the same time to clamber up the 
stairs as fast as her fat body would let her. A\l- 
most beside myself with terror, I clung to her 
robe—fell on my knees beside her. But this was 
worse still. 

“Help! help! assassins! murder!” she shrieked. 
“Oh! oh! Let me go! Take my money! Oh! 
oh!” 

It was frightful. 

“Look at me, madame,” I tried to say; “I am 
not what you think.” 


” 





But she was crazy with fear; she raved, she 
gasped, she bawled at the top of her lungs—so 
that, had we not been underground, the whole 
quarter would have been aroused. In despair, and 
furious at her stupid folly, I clambered over her 
back, and gained the door before her—slammed 
it in her face, and shoved the bolt. During the 
struggle the light had been extinguished, and Mis- 

23 


The Dean’s Watch 


tress Grédel remained in the dark, her voice only 
faintly heard at intervals. 

Exhausted, almost annihilated, I looked at 
Annette, whose distress was equal to mine. We 
stood listening in silence to the faint cries. Grad- 
ually they died away and ceased. The poor 
woman must have fainted. | 

“Oh, Kasper!” cried Annette, clasping her 
hands. ‘‘ What isto be done? Fly! Save your- 
self! Have you killed her ?” 

“Killed her? I?” 

‘““No matter—fly! Here—quick !” 

And she drew the bar from before the street- 
door. I rushed into the street, without even 
thanking her—ungrateful wretch that I was! The 
night was black as ink—not a star to be seen, not 
a lamp lighted, snow driving before the wind. I 
ran on for half an hour, at least, before I stopped 
to take breath. I looked up—imagine my despair 
—there I was, right in front of the Pied-du. 
Mouton again. In my terror I had made the tour 
of the quarter perhaps two or three times, for 
aught I knew. My legs were like lead; my knees 
trembled. 

The inn, just before deserted, was buzzing like 
a bee-hive. Lights went from window to window. 
It was full, no doubt, of police-agents. Exhausted 

24 


The Dean’s Watch 


with hunger and fatigue, desperate, not knowing 
where to find refuge, I took the most singular of 
all my resolutions. 

“ Faith,” said I to myself, ‘one death as well 
as another! It is no worse to be hung than to 
leave one’s bones on the road to the Black Forest. 
Here goes!” 

And I entered the inn to deliver myself up to 
justice. Besides the shabby men with crushed 
hats and big sticks whom I had already seen in 
the morning, who were going and coming, and 
prying everywhere, before a table were seated 
the grand-provost Zimmer, dressed all in black, 
solemn, keen-eyed, and the secretary Roth, with 
his red wig, imposing smile, and great, flat ears, 
like oyster-shells. They paid hardly any attention 
at all to me—a circumstance which at once modi- 
fied my resolution. I took a seat in one corner of 
the hall, behind the great stove, in company with 
two or three of the neighbours, who had run in to 
see what was going on, and called calmly for a 
pint of wine and a plate of sauerkraut. 

Annette came near betraying me. 

‘Ah, good Heavens!” she exclaimed ; ‘‘is it 
possible that you are here?” 

But luckily no one noticed her exclamation, 
and I ate my meal with better appetite, and listened 

25 


~The Dean’s Watch 


to the examination of the good lady Grédel, who 
sat propped up in a big arm-chair, with hair di- 
shevelled, and eyes still dilated by her fright. 

‘“‘Of what age did this man seem to be ?” asked 
the provost. 

“Forty or fifty, sir. It was an immense 
man, with black whiskers, or brown—I don't 
know exactly which—and a long nose, and green 
eyes.” 

‘‘Had he no marks of any kind—scars, for in- 
stance ?” 

““No, I can’t remember. Luckily, I screamed 
so loud, he was frightened; and then I defended 
myself with my nails. He had a great hammer 
and pistols. He seized me by the throat. Ah! 
you know, sir, when one tries to murder you, you 
have to defend yourself.” 

‘“Nothing more natural, more legitimate, my 
dear madame.—Write, M. R6éth—‘ The courage 
and presence of mind of this excellent lady were 
truly admirable.’” 

Then came Annette’s turn, who simply de- 
clared that she had been so frightened she could 
remember nothing. 

“This will do,” said the provost. “If we 
need to make further inquiry, we will return to: 
morrow,” 

26 


The Dean’s Watch 


The examination being thus ended, every one 
departed, and I asked Mme. Grédel to give me a 
room for the night. She did not in the least recol- 
lect ever having seen me before. 

“ Annette,” she gasped, “‘take the gentleman 
to the little green room in the third story. As 
for myself, sir, you see I cannot even stand on my 
legs! O good Lord! good Lord! what does not 
one have to go through in this world!” 

With this she fell to sobbing, which seemed to 
relieve her. 

“Oh, Kasper, Kasper!” cried Annette, when 
she had taken me to my room, and we were alone, 
“who would have believed that you were one of 
the band? I can never, never forgive myself for 
having loved a brigand !” 

“How? Annette, you too?” I exclaimed; 
“this is too much !” 

“No, no!” she cried, throwing her arms about 
my neck, “you are not one of them—you are too 
good for that. Still, you are a brave man just the 
same to have come back.” 

I explained to her that I should have died of 
cold outside, and that this alone had decided me. 
After a few minutes, however, we parted so as 
not to arouse Mother Grédel’s suspicions, and 
having made certain that none of the windows 

27 


The Dean’s Watch 


opened on a wall, and that the bolt on the door 
was a good one, I went to bed and soon was fast 
asleep. 


II 


Wuen I drew the curtain of my bed next 
morning, I saw that the window-panes were white 
with snow, which was heaped up also on the sill 
without. I thought mournfully of my poor com- 
rades’ fate. How they must have suffered from 
cold! Old Bremer and big Berthe especially— 
my heart ached for them. 

While I was absorbed in these sad reflections 
a strange noise arose outside. It drew near the 
inn, and, not without fear and trembling, I jumped 
out of bed and rushed to the window, to see what 
new danger threatened. 

They were bringing the terrible band to con- 
front it with Mme. Grédel Dick. My poor com- 
panions came down the street between two files of 
policemen, and followed by a perfect avalanche of 
ragamuffins, yelling and hissing like true savages. 
There was poor Bremer, handcuffed to his son 
Ludwig, then Carl and Wilfrid, and last of all 
stout Berthe, who walked by herself, lamenting 
her fate all the while in heart-rending tones : 

28 


The Dean’s Watch 


“For Heaven’s sake, gentlemen, for Heaven’s 
sake, have pity on a poor innocent harpist! I— 
kill! I—rob! Oh! good Lord! can it be pos- 
sible ?” 

And she wrung her hands. The others looked 
doleful enough as they walked with heads bent, 
and dishevelled hair hanging over their faces. 

The procession, rabble and all, turned into the 
dark alley which led to the inn. Presently the 
guards drove out the eager crowd, who remained 
outside in the mud, with their noses flattened 
against the window-panes. 

I dressed myself quickly, and opened my door, 
to see if there were not some chance of escape, 
but I could hear voices and footsteps going to and 
fro down-stairs, and made up my mind that the 
passages were well guarded. My door opened on 
the landing, just opposite the window which our 
midnight visitor of the night before must have 
used in his flight. At first I paid no attention to 
this window, but, while I remained listening, on a 
sudden I perceived that it was open—that there 
was but little snow on the sill, and drawing near I 
perceived that there were fresh tracks along the 
wall. I shuddered at this discovery. The man 
had been there again, perhaps he came every 
night. The cat, the weasel, the ferret, all such 

17 29 


The Dean’s Watch 


beasts of prey, have their accustomed paths in this 
way. In a moment, everything was clear to my 
mind. 

“Ah,” thought I, “if chance has thus put the 
assassin’s fate in my hands, my poor comrades may 
be saved.” 

Just at this moment the door of the saloon 
was opened, and I could hear some words of the 
examination going on. 

“Do you admit having participated, on the 
2oth of this month, in the assassination of the 
priest Ulmet Elias ?” 

Then followed some words which I could not 
make out, and the door was closed again. I leaned 
my head on the banister, debating in my mind a 
great, an heroic resolution. ‘‘ Heaven has put the 
fate of my companions in my hands. I can save 
them. If I recoil from such a duty, I shall be 
their murderer! my peace of mind, my honour, 
will be gone forever! I shall feel myself the most 
contemptible of men!” 

For a long time I hesitated, but all at once my 
resolution was taken. I descended the stairs and 
made my way into the hall. 

“Have you never. seen this watch?” the 
provost was saying to Grédel. ‘Try to recol- 
lect, madame.” 

30 


The Dean’s Watch 


Without awaiting her answer, I advanced and 
replied myself, in a firm voice: ‘This watch, sir, 
I have seen in the hands of the assassin himself, I 
recognise it, and I can deliver the assassin into your 
hands this very night, if you will but listen to me.” 

Profound silence for a moment followed my 
address. The astounded officials looked at each 
other ; my comrades seemed to revive a little. 

“Who are you, sir?” demanded the provost, 
recovering himself. 

““T am the comrade of these unfortunate men, 
and I am not ashamed to own it,” I cried, “for all, 
all of them, though poor, are honest. Not one of 
them is capable of committing the crime they are 
accused of.” | 

Once more there was silence. The great 
Berthe began to sob under her breath. The prov- 
ost seemed to reflect. At last, looking at me 
sternly, he said : 

“Where do you pretend you will find the 
assassin for us?” 

“Here, sir, in this house, and, to convince 
you, I only ask to speak one moment to you in 
private.” 

‘“‘Come,” said he, rising. 

He motioned to the chief detective, Madoc, 
to follow us, and we went out. 

31 


The Dean’s Watch 


I ran quickly up-stairs; the others close be- 
hind me. On the third story, I stopped before 
the window, and pointed out the tracks in the 
snow. 

“There are the assassin’s footsteps,” said I. 
“This is where he passes every evening. Night 
before last he came at two o’clock in the morning. 
Last night he was here; no doubt he will return 
to-night.” 

The provost and Madoc looked at the foot- 
steps for several moments without saying a word. 

“And how do you know these are the foot- 
prints of the murderer?” asked the chief of 
police, incredulously. 

I told them about the man’s entrance into 

our garret, and pointed out above us the lattice 
through which I had watched his flight in the 
moonlight. ‘It was only by accident,” I said, 
“that I had discovered the footsteps this morn- 
ing.” 
“Strange!” muttered the provost. “This 
modifies considerably the position of the prison- 
ers. But how do you explain the murderer’s being 
in the cellar?” 

‘“The murderer was myself, sir.” 

And I related in a few words the events of the 
night before. 

32 


The Dean’s Watch 


“That will do,” said he, and then, turning to 
the chief of police, continued : 

“T must confess, Madoc, that these fiddlers’ 
story has seemed to me by no means conclusive 
of their having had anything to do with the mur- 
ders. Besides, their papers establish, for several 
of them, an a/zbz very hard to disprove.—Still, 
young man, though the account you give us has 
the appearance of being true, you will remain in 
our power until it is verified—Madoc, do not lose 
sight of him, and take your measures accordingly.” 

With this he went down-stairs, collected his 
papers, and ordered the prisoners to be taken back 
to jail. Then, casting a look of contempt at the 
corpulent landlady, he took his departure, followed 
by his secretary. 

“Madame,” said Madoc, who remained with 
two of his men, “you will please preserve the 
most profound silence as to what has taken place. 
Also, prepare for this brave lad here the same 
room he occupied night before last.” 

His tone admitted of no reply, and Mme. 
Grédel promised by all that was sacred to do 
whatever they wished, if they would only save 
her from the brigands. 

“Give yourself no uneasiness about the brig- 
ands,” replied Madoc. ‘We will stay here all 

33 


The Dean’s Watch 


day and all night to protect you. Go quietly about 
your affairs, and begin by giving us breakfast.— 
Young man, will you do me the honour to break- 
fast with me?” 

My situation did not permit me to decline this 
offer. I accepted. 

We were soon seated in front of a ham and a 
bottle of Rhine wine. The chief of police, in 
spite of his leaden face—his keen eye and great 
nose like the beak of an eagle—was a jolly enough 
fellow after a few glasses of wine. He tried to 
seize Annette by the waist as she passed. He told 
funny stories, at which the others shouted with 
laughter. I, however, remained silent, depressed. 

“Come, young man,” said Madoc, with a laugh, 
“try to forget the death of your estimable grand- 
mother. We are all mortal. Take a good drink, 
and chase away all these gloomy thoughts.” 

So the time slipped away, amid clouds of 
tobacco-smoke, the jingling of glasses, and clink- 
ing of cans. We sat apart during the day in one 
corner of the saloon. Guests came to drink as 
usual, but they paid no attention to us. At nine 
o'clock, however, after the watchman had gone his 
round, Madoc rose. 

‘“‘ Now,” said he, ‘‘ we must attend to our little 
business. Close the door and shutters—softly, 


34 


The Dean’s Watch 


madame, softly. There, you and Mlle. Annette 
may go to bed.” 

The chief and his two followers drew from 
their pockets bars of iron loaded at the ends with 
leaden balls. Madoc put a fresh cap on his pistol, 
and placed it carefully in the breast-pocket of his 
overcoat, so as to be ready at hand. 

Then we mounted to the garret. The too- 
attentive Annette had lighted a fire in the stove. 
Madoc, muttering an oath between his teeth, ha- 
stened to throw some water on the coals. Then 
he pointed to the mattress. 

“Tf you have any mind for it,” said he to me, 
“you can sleep.” 

He blew out the candle, and seated himself 
with his two acolytes in the back part of the 
room against the wall. I threw myself on the 
bed, murmuring a prayer that Heaven would send 
the assassin. 

The hours rolled by. Midnight came. The 
silence was so profound I could scarcely ‘believe 
the three men sat there with eye and ear strained 
to catch the least movement—the slightest sound. 
Minute after minute passed slowly—slowly. I 
could not sleep. A thousand terrible images 
chased each other through my brain. One o'clock 
struck—two—yet nothing—no one appeared. 


39 


The Dean’s Watch 


At three o’clock one of the policemen moved. 
I thought the man was coming—but all was silent 
again as before. I began to think that Madoc 
would take me for an impostor, to imagine how 
he would abuse me in the morning. And then 
my poor comrades, instead of aiding, I had only 
riveted their chains ! 

The time seemed now to pass only too rapidly. 
I wished the night might last forever, so as to 
preserve at least a ray of hope for me. 

I was going over the same torturing fancies for 
the hundredth time—on a sudden, without my hav- 
ing heard the least sound—the window opened— 
two eyes gleamed in the aperture—nothing moved 
in the garret. 

“They have gone to sleep!” thought I, in 
an agony of suspense. 

The head remained there—motionless—watch- 
ful. The villain must suspect something! Oh! 
how my heart thumped—the blood coursed 
through my veins! And yet cold beads of 
sweat gathered on my forehead. I ceased to 
breathe. 

Several minutes passed thus—then, suddenly, 
the man seemed to have decided—he glided down 
into the garret, with the same noiseless caution as 


on the previous night. 
36 


The Dean’s Watch 


But at the same instant a cry—a terrible, short, 
thrilling cry—vibrated through the room. 

“We have him!” 

Then the whole house was shaken from garret 
to cellar by cries—the stamping of feet—hoarse 
shouts. I was petrified by terror. The man bel- 
lowed—the others drew their breaths in quick 
gasps—then came a heavy fall which made the 
floor crack—and I heard only the gnashing of 
teeth and clink of chains. 

“Light!” cried the terrible Madoc. 

By the flame of the burning coals, which cast 
a bluish light through the room, I could dimly 
see the police-officers crouched over the body 
of a man in his shirt-sleeves; one held him 
by the throat, the knees of the other rested 
upon his chest; Madoc was roughly clasping 
the handcuffs on his wrists. The man lay as 
if lifeless, save that from time to time one of 
his great legs, naked from knee to ankle, was 
raised and struck the floor with a convulsive 
movement. His eyes were starting from their 
sockets—a blood-stained foam had gathered upon 
his lips. 

Hardly had I lighted the candle when the of- 
ficers started back with an exclamation : 

“ Our dean !” 

Vol. 11—S 37 


The Dean’s Watch 


And all three rose to their feet, looking at each 
other with pale faces. 

The bloodshot eye of the assassin turned to- 
wards Madoc, his lips moved, but only after several 
seconds I could hear him murmur : 

“What a dream!—Good God! what a 
dream !” 

Then a sigh, and he lay motionless again. 

I drew near to look at him. Yes, it was he, 
the man who had overtaken us on the road to 
Heidelberg, and advised us to turn back. Per- 
haps even then he had a presentiment that we 
would be the cause of his ruin. Madoc, who had 
recovered from his surprise, seeing that he did not 
move, and that a thread of blood was oozing along 
the dusty floor, bent over him and tore asunder 
the bosom of his shirt ; he had stabbed himself to 
the heart with his huge knife. 

“Eh!” said Madoc, with a sinister smile. 
‘Monsieur the dean has cheated the gallows. He 
knew where to strike, and has not missed his 
mark. Do you stay here,” he continued to us. 
‘“‘T will go and inform the provost.” 

I remained with the two police agents, watch- 
ing the corpse. 

By eight o’clock next morning all Heidelberg 
was electrified with the news.. Daniel Van der 

38 


The Dean’s Watch 


Berg, dean of the woollen-drapers, possessed of 
wealth and position such as few enjoyed, who 
could believe that he had been the terrible as- 
sassin ? 

‘A hundred different explanations were offered. 
Some said the rich dean had been a somnambulist, 
and therefore not responsible for his actions— 
others, that he had murdered from pure love of 
blood—he could have had no other motive for 
such a crime. Perhaps both theories were true. 
In the somnambulist the will is dead, he is goy- 
erned by his animal instincts alone, be they pacific 
or sanguinary, and in Master Daniel Van der 
Berg, the cruel face, the flat head swollen behind 
the ears—the green eyes—the long bristling mus- 
tache, all proved that he unhappily belonged to 
the feline family—terrible race, which kills for 
the pleasure of killing. 


THE END OF THE DEAN'S WATCH 


39 











THE PORTRAITS OF 
ERCKMANN AND CHATRIAN 


THE popular names of Erck- 
mann-Chatrian, names which 
recall so many stirring and 
patriotic tales, represent, to 
our great regret, only a very 
obscure and unesthetic ico- 





nography. We have but very 
few pictures of the authors ~ 


EMILE ERCKMANN. 
After a portrait by Otto de of Madame Thérese. and 


Frére, about 1856. 


L’Amt Fritz. Simple and 
rural in their tastes, Erckmann and Chatrian, with- 
out at any time parading that celebrity in which 
so many authors of ‘‘smart” literature take so 
much pride, when in the most brilliant epoch of 
their fame still preserved that rustic simplicity - 
which characterized their first appearance. With 
their genial and upright natures these two Alsa- 
tians never thought to put themselves before their 
works. They were men of a bygone age, Nature's 

43 


The Portraits of 


philosophers, wise men without vanity. Our task 
in respect of them has been difficult, but we hope 
not altogether infelicitous. It is not without a 
certain satisfaction that, by the side of other per- 
sonalities so often popularized, we have been able 
by dint of persevering research to discover two or 
three portraits of these writers. 

Thus we have given as frontispiece two pictures — 
of these Siamese twins of literature, ingenuously 
painted, in timid and awkward strokes, by one of 
those travelling professors of the familiar art of 
charcoal and pencil, such as were to be seen in the 
villages of Alsace about fifty years ago. It por- 
trays the ‘‘Amis Fritz” and the worthy pastors 
seated round the tables in the old Gothic inns. 

A detached portrait of Erckmann by Otto de 
Frére, of about the year 1864 or 1865, gives us an 
opportunity of studying more closely one of the 
collaborators. Emile Erckmann, born in 1822, at 
Phalsbourg, has in the portrait before us already 
passed his fortieth year. The calm features and 
high bald forehead of the professor leave an im- 
pression of gravity and thoughtfulness. <A pair of 
spectacles which he wears adds to his pedagogical 
appearance. Emile Erckmann represents the philo- 
sophic and the contemplative side of this romantic 
couple. Born in a town which has given so many 

44 


Erckmann and Chatrian 


chiefs to the French army, he brought to their joint 
work adeep and profound study of the Alsatian 
land, together with the silent tenacity of his race. 
The confined life of his province, rural and indus- 
trious in times of pe..ce, implaczble and ardent in 
the hour of strifc,.finds in 
him an able and truthful 
historian. 

The first portrait of 
Emile Erckmann is con- 
temporary with Jadame 
Thérese, one of the most 
admirable and best known 
of their romans natzon- 
aux. A second portrait, 





which is reproduced here, 
seems a trifle older and ERCKMANN 

of about the year 1868. Weed 

That year the Théatre de Cluny in Paris produced 
a piece adapted by the two friends from the novel 
Le Jutf Polonats. Erckmann at that time wore a 
beard. His dress, like his appearance, is without 
care, but in that serious face and behind those 
spectacles there shines the profound and concen- 
trated look of one accustomed to gaze upon the 
' waters and the mountains of the Vosges; and the 
expression, brilliant as a fixed star, obliterates all 

45 


The Portraits of 


that is crude and inharmonious in this face, which 
otherwise reminds one of a German schoolmaster. 
In contradistinction to Chatrian, who spent nearly 
the whole of his life in Paris and its environs, 
Erckmann seems to pine for the green woods and 
scenery of that beautiful country.where the healthy 
and simple people are so much in harmony with 
nature. Thus is he shown to us here. His 
features remind us both of Taine and Cherbuliez, 
though he possessed nothing in common with 
them beyond that serene look full of reflection 
and deduction. Erckmann worked in Alsace; 
Chatrian, on the contrary, whose administrative 
duties kept him all day at his desk in Paris, could 
indulge his taste for novel-writing only in the even- ~ 
ings, occasionally stealing a few hours in the day 
out of the time which he was bound to devote to 
his Government work. To the calm and quietude 
of his companion Chatrian added the animation of 
an ardent and inventive spirit. To the reflective 
and poetic talent of Erckmann, he opposed the 
hastiness of his own dashing and spontaneous 
genius. To his pen, no doubt, can be assigned all 
those parts where the story, leaving the description 
of rustic life, plunges boldly into dramatic action. 

A double portrait, from a photograph taken 
about 1874, depicts them in the constrained atti- 

46 


Erckmann and_ Chatrian 


tude characteristic of the work of Daguerre and 
his followers. Doubtless they were together in’ 
that little house at Raincy, where they often met 
to discuss the plot of some new work, and where 
the photographer must have invaded their privacy. 

“Only once did I see that little garden at 
Raincy,” writes one of their friends, “but I can 





ERCKMANN AND CHATRIAN 


About 1874. (After a photograph.) 


see again the kindly, portly Erckmann seated un- 
der the shade of a cherry-tree, a picture which later 
on I saw reproduced again at the Théatre Frangais 
in L’Amz Fritz—Erckmann with his calm face 
and shrewd eyes, smoking his pipe, and throwing 
out philosophical theories between the whiffs of 
tobacco. He is, as it were, the dream, and Cha- 
trian the reality in this partnership. Erckmann 
47 


The Portraits of 


would willingly have kept to the fantastic tales of 
their early days, but t was Chatrian, the type of 
the soldier, with th mustache and face of a some- 
what harsh-looking non-commissioned officer, and 
a strict disciplinarien, who directed the collabora- 
tion towards the Napcleonic era and the national 
chronicles. This, in a measure, explains the por- 
traits and helps us to show them both, united in a 
work simultaneously conceived, both simple and 
great in their baffling expression, happy in knowing 
themselves understood by the multitude of the 
poor and humble. That photograph dates from 
the representation of L’A m7 Frztz in the Théatre 
Frangais. 

After the defeat of the Alsatians these poets, 
deeply touched, sing to us in their heartfelt words 
of the picturesqueness of their mountains and 
forests, henceforth to be under Cerman rule. At 
that moment (and it is also the last portrait we 
have been able to find) Erckmun is aged, his 
beard and mustache are silvered, his appearance 
no longer that of a professor, but rather that of an 
old officer whom the close of the war has thrown 
out of employment. Chatrian, on the other hand, 
though only four years his junior, with hair and 
beard still abundant, seems alive with vigour and 
strength. His glance is keen, frank, and loyal, his 

48 . 


Erckmann and Chatrian 


face open and bold, his attitude full of energy. 
No picture could express better than this the 
striking contrast between two temperaments so 
widely dissimilar, and yet so well designed to sup- 
plement each other and form a complete whole. 
André Gill, in a typical and humorous cari- 
cature, has admirably shown the expressions of the 
two writers as their faces appear above a jug of 





ERCKMANN AND CHATRIAN, 


After a caricature by André Gill, 1879. 


beer, each with an Alsatian pipe in his mouth, A 

peaceful happiness marks th ir brotherly features. 

They are enjoying the dramatic successes of the 

Rantzau and Madame Thérese. The final dis- 

agreement, which did not happen until 18g0, at 

Villemomble, and which ended only with Cha- 
49 


Erckmann and Chatrian 


trian’s death, had not yet come, like a detestable 
intruder, to separate those two strong characters. 
Their dreams, their work, and their successes were » 
still joint property at the time André Gill drew 
this caricature. The two writers have been termed 
the “Siamese twins” of historical romance. One 
cannot understand why these two figures, so full 
of contrast, were never delineated in painting nor 
sculpture, in view of the large measure of success 
which directed attention to their names. Such 
incomprehensible mysteries do sometimes occur in 
the lives of celebrated men, and we fail to find the 
solution of the enigma, which forces us to admit 
that Erckmann and Chatrian left us no portraits, 
no important engravings, no great popular litho-. 
graphs, nor any medallions or busts. If ever 
posterity thinks of raising a monument to the 
memory ~f these two curious writers, the artist to 
whom the task is assigned will have some difficulty 
in finding any other valid and interesting docu- 
ments than the few pictures which are collected 


here. 
OCTAVE UZANNE, 


THE END 


50 






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